As midnight approached, I stood in the dimly lit living room, staring at the front door and wondering if I should contact the police. Just then, I heard someone fumbling with the doorknob. The door opened, and David staggered in, clearly drunk, the smell of alcohol washing over me.

“I’m home,” he hiccuped.

I rushed to the entrance and found him lying half-sprawled on the hallway floor, one shoe half-off.

“What happened? Are you okay?” I asked, reaching out.

“Too loud,” he muttered angrily. “Go away.”

He staggered toward the dining room, and when I tried to support him, he violently shook off my hand.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me with that ugly face,” he slurred. “To think you’re my wife…”

Then he just lay down right there on the floor, like a dropped coat.

His words were beyond shocking. Why? Why couldn’t he consider anyone’s feelings other than his own? His drunken cruelty hurt me so deeply that for a second I couldn’t breathe. I wondered if he even saw me as family anymore.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at the untouched dinner still waiting on the table. I had put so much effort into cooking, and it had all been for nothing. In the end, I quietly ate my cold meal alone and went to bed, wrapped in loneliness.

The next morning, David woke up acting as if nothing had happened.

“My head hurts,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “I guess I drank too much. But why did you just leave me in the hallway?”

“You chose to lie down there, David,” I said steadily. “That was your decision, not mine.”

“Aren’t you my wife?” he shot back. “At least take care of me when I’m drunk.”

His words made me wonder why he always blamed me first. Why was it always my fault?

“If you weren’t going to eat at home, you could have at least let me know,” I said. “I prepared a nice meal, and I called you multiple times. Why didn’t you answer?”

He shrugged, still not looking at me. “My drinking party from the day before got rescheduled to yesterday,” he said dully. “Do I have to report every little thing? Besides, you know how hard it is to pick up the phone during a gathering. Think about my situation.”

With every word, my heart grew colder. My expectations for him slowly shrank down to almost nothing. I told myself that if I expected less, I wouldn’t feel as hurt or disappointed.

“I’m taking a break and going back to my parents’ home tomorrow,” he announced soon after. “Being with you lately feels unpleasant and boring.”

Seeing his attitude—his obvious sense of superiority—made me start to seriously consider divorce. But our baby was due soon, and that complicated everything.

Our baby. Just thinking those words made my heart race with anticipation. I had heard stories from friends about the pain of labor, but my excitement at meeting the little life inside me overshadowed those fears. Neighbors in our community often smiled and called out from their porches, “Just a little while longer now, Lisa,” and their encouragement brightened my mood.

One evening after work, David came home and made a surprising suggestion.

“Let’s go on a family trip soon,” he said casually, kicking off his work shoes and heading straight for the couch.

“Really?” I asked. “You mean the three of us, after the baby’s born?”

“I’m talking about a family trip,” he said. “My mom and dad want to join.”

I was taken aback. There had always been tension between me and David’s parents. Whenever something happened concerning David, they blamed me without hesitation, like with the phone call about the dinner. The sudden idea of a trip with them made every muscle in my body go tense.

“I’m about to give birth,” I said carefully. “Traveling a long distance right now might be risky for the baby.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” David snapped. “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you’re sick. My parents are thoughtfully inviting us.”

“But what if something happens while we’re away?” I asked. “It’s a long drive, and—”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut me off. “Everything’s already decided. We’ll go for two nights and three days next week.”

“Next week?” My voice rose. “Next week is my due date. That’s—”

“Just do as you’re told,” he said sharply. “Prepare for the trip. End of discussion.”

He made his declaration and walked out of the room, leaving me staring at the wall, my hand resting protectively over my belly.

“I’m in trouble now,” I thought, the words sounding small even in my own head.

The next day, I met up with a close friend at a café near the hospital and explained the situation. She listened, her brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

“That’s more than a bit too much,” she said. “You need to think about you and the baby before anything else.”

I kept turning her words over in my mind, trying to figure out how to refuse the trip. But while I hesitated, the day of departure suddenly arrived, as if the calendar had skipped ahead without asking me.

“Actually, I’m not feeling well today,” I told David that morning, one hand pressed into the small of my back. “I’m worried about the baby, so I’m going to rest at home.”

He looked unconvinced, his keys already in his hand.

“Anyway, you can just rest in the car,” he said impatiently. “You’ll be fine, right? Come on, bring the luggage. We’re heading to my parents’ place, so hurry up.”

As we walked out to the driveway, I felt a knot of worry tightening in my stomach. The sky was bright and cloudless, the American flag on our neighbor’s porch snapping in the breeze, but my thoughts were heavy. After loading our luggage into the trunk, I eased myself into the passenger seat, adjusting my seat belt carefully across my belly.

Just as David started the engine, I felt a sudden warmth at my feet. I looked down. Water was spreading across the floor mat.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “My water broke.”

I turned to David, my heart pounding. “David, I think my water just broke. Please take me to the hospital. Quickly.”

He stared at my feet, frozen for a moment. Then, taken aback by the situation, he blurted, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic rising inside me. “We need to go to the hospital now. The baby might be coming.”

While I pressed a towel between my knees, trying to stop the fluid from soaking everything, David suddenly opened the passenger door.

“David, what are you doing? We need to go to the hospital,” I said.

“Get out,” he snapped. “You’re going to make a mess in the car.”

I stared at him, completely shocked. “What are you saying?”

“I said get out. I need to clean the car,” he insisted.

Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the seat. My legs trembled as I tried to balance on the driveway.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “We were supposed to be on a family trip. Just go to the hospital by yourself.”

I was too stunned to respond. “Wait!” I cried, clutching my belly. “How can you leave me here like this?”

But he had already slid back behind the wheel. The engine revved, the tires rolled over the concrete, and he drove away, leaving me standing in our suburban driveway in my loose maternity clothes, my water broken, the world suddenly too bright and too sharp.

Feeling overwhelmed, I grabbed my phone and dialed for an ambulance with shaking fingers. As I stood there, trying to breathe through the first contractions, someone approached.

“Lisa, are you okay?” a familiar voice asked.

It was Sarah, her face filled with concern. She must have seen everything from her front yard or through her living room window.

“Oh my God,” she said, taking in the scene. “You’re in labor.”

Sarah immediately understood my predicament and, after talking quickly with the dispatcher, arranged for a special taxi that could take me to the hospital faster than the ambulance they said might be delayed. She stayed by my side, supporting my arm as we waited, talking softly to keep me calm while I breathed through the pain. Gratitude and relief washed over me, and tears streamed down my face.

Soon after, thanks to Sarah’s help, I safely arrived at the hospital’s maternity ward. As nurses wheeled me toward a room, Sarah walked alongside, holding my hand.

On the way, as the fluorescent lights passed overhead, I made a silent vow.

I will make him pay for this.

Even as the labor pains intensified, Sarah kept her hand wrapped around mine. After I was settled in the room, she called my parents, who lived ten minutes away on the other side of town. They arrived not long after, their faces tight with worry.

“There’s something I want to discuss,” Sarah whispered to them, and the three of them stepped out into the hallway together.

As the contractions sharpened, my smartphone vibrated from a corner of the room. I grimaced, breathing through another wave.

“Who is it?” I asked.

My parents checked the screen, their expressions darkening.

“It’s David,” my father said, displeasure clear in his voice.

Despite everything, I took the call. As soon as I answered, I heard David’s panicked voice.

“Help me—”

But I was in no state, or mood, to listen to him. I ended the call immediately, and my parents turned off the phone and set it facedown. Even after that, messages from him continued to pour in, but I no longer saw them.

As the labor intensified, the nurses finally moved me into the delivery room. Time blurred into a painful, gasping haze. After what felt like an eternity, the pain crashed one last time and then broke, and I finally heard the high, clear cries of my baby.

Exhausted, I let my head sink back against the pillow. Through bleary eyes, I saw my parents and Sarah standing behind the glass with warm smiles. Relief flooded me, and I closed my eyes, letting sleep take me.

When I woke up a few hours later, I was lying in a quiet hospital room. The afternoon light filtered through half-closed blinds, making soft stripes on the walls. My parents were sitting beside my bed, their faces filled with concern and tenderness.

“Are you okay?” my mother asked gently.

Still feeling the weight of exhaustion, I couldn’t fully sit up. My father’s eyes were shiny, and my mother softly reassured him that the postpartum period could be exhausting.

Witnessing that heartwarming scene—my parents here, steady and present, after everything—I felt a small smile form on my lips.

“How’s the baby?” I asked.

My parents told me that the baby was undergoing some routine tests in the nursery but would be brought back soon. I glanced around, noticing that Sarah wasn’t in the room.