My baby is due in two weeks, and though my heart aches, I’m torn between welcoming her and divorcing my husband. I’m Mary, and one night changed everything…
Daniel and I seemed perfect for five years—until he dismissed my fears about fire. I grew up in a house fire: we lost our home, our pet, and the smell of smoke still terrifies me. Daniel would say, “There’s an alarm—what’s the worst?” but I couldn’t shake it.
I’ve been extra cautious lately—unplugging appliances, checking stoves, avoiding candles—because our baby’s safety matters more than anything. Daniel found it annoying.
Then two nights ago, he had friends over. I asked them to leave for quiet, but he insisted they stay. Eventually, I fell asleep. Suddenly I was jolted awake by him screaming “Fire! Fire!” Panic surged. I rushed downstairs, pleading for help… only to find them laughing. It was a prank.
I confronted him in tears: “How could you exploit my trauma?” He sobered up and apologized, but I felt violated. I locked myself upstairs, overwhelmed.
Desperate, I called Dad. He came immediately, stood firm with me, and we left together. As we drove, he told me, “You deserve more than this.” Later, I called my lawyer and filed for divorce. It’s only been two days, and Daniel regrets it deeply—but my trust is broken.
I refuse to let my trauma be dismissed, especially when our baby’s safety is at stake.
Would you protect yourself and your child—or try to forgive and hope for change?