I’m 39 weeks pregnant, and I was trying to smile through the pain and exhaustion at my husband’s birthday dinner last week. Then he turned to me and said something that made me grab my daughter’s hand and walk out. I’ll never forget that night. I’m sure nobody in the family will.
My name’s Catherine, but everyone calls me Cathy. I’m 38, and 39 weeks pregnant with baby number two. The baby could come any day now.
My belly stretches so tight I feel like a balloon ready to burst. Every step sends shooting pains down my legs. Sleep? What’s that? I haven’t seen a full night’s rest in weeks.
We already have Zoey. She’s four, all pigtails and endless questions. This pregnancy has been different though. Harder, honestly. The doctor says it’s because I’m over 35. High risk, they call it.
“Cathy, you need to take it easy,” Dr. Smith told me last week. “Rest is crucial now.”
Rest. Right. Tell that to Alan.
My husband has made it to exactly one ultrasound appointment. One… out of dozens. While I’ve been to every checkup, every test, and every moment of worry alone.
“I have to work, Cath,” he always says. “Someone has to pay the bills.”
But weekends? He works those too. He was voluntarily leaving me to chase a four-year-old around while my back screams and my feet swell like balloons.
I’ve been begging him for months to help with the nursery. Simple things, you know. Move boxes. Hang curtains. Set up the crib.
“I’ll get to it,” he promised. Every. Single. Time.
The nursery still sits half-finished. Boxes are scattered everywhere. No curtains. And the crib leans against the wall like a forgotten thought.
“When are you going to finish this?” I asked him two weeks ago, rubbing my aching lower back.
“Soon, Cath. God, you’re always nagging.”
Nagging? Right.
So, last Tuesday was Alan’s 39th birthday. His sister Kelly called that morning.
“I want to throw him a little party at my place. Nothing fancy. Just family dinner. You, Alan, Zoey, Mom, Dad, and my boyfriend Jake.”
It sounded nice. I thought maybe we could have one peaceful evening together.
“That sounds wonderful, Kelly. Thank you.”
I spent the afternoon getting ready. Well, as ready as a woman who looks like she swallowed a watermelon. I put on my nicest maternity dress. The old one that used to make Alan smile when I was pregnant with our first child.
He didn’t even notice.
We arrived at Kelly’s apartment around six. The smell of roast chicken filled the air. Soft jazz played from the speakers. Candles flickered on the dining table. It was heavenly.
“Happy birthday, son!” Grace, Alan’s mother, hugged him tight. She’s always been kind to me. She’s more of a mother than my own, really.
“Thanks, Mom. This looks great, Kel.”
***
Dinner started pleasantly enough. Kelly had made all of Alan’s favorites. Roast chicken with herbs. Mashed potatoes. Green bean casserole. The birthday cake sat on the counter, chocolate with vanilla frosting.
Zoey chattered about her day at preschool. Grace asked about my pregnancy. Jake told funny stories from his job at the fire station.
I tried to ignore the constant pressure in my pelvis. My back screamed every time I shifted in my chair. This was Alan’s night. I wanted it to be special.
Then halfway through the main course, Alan turned to me with this bright smile like he’d just solved world hunger.
“You know what, Cath? After dinner, why don’t you take Zoey home and get her to bed? I’ll stay here with everyone else. And keep the party going.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
His smile got wider and more excited. “Come on, babe! This is my last chance to really celebrate before the baby comes. I want to drink some beer with Jake. Maybe smoke a cigar on the balcony. Stay up late like the old days.”
The fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against my plate.
“You want me to leave? And take Zoey home alone?”
“Well, yeah.” Alan shrugged like this was perfectly reasonable. “You’re tired anyway, right? You’re always grumbling about how tired you are. And someone needs to put Zoey to bed.”
I stared at my husband. This man I’d loved for eight years. Who I’d built a life with. Who was supposed to be my partner.
“Alan. I’m 39 weeks pregnant. The baby could come tonight.”
“Oh, come on, Cath. Don’t be dramatic!”
That’s when Grace set down her fork and stood up from her chair. She fixed her son with a look that could freeze fire.
“Alan.” Her voice was deadly calm. “Would you mind repeating what you just said to your wife?”
“I said…”
“No.” Grace held up one finger. “Word for word. What did you just tell Catherine to do?”
Alan’s face went red. He looked around the table for support. But found none.
“I asked her to take Zoey home so I could celebrate my birthday with you guys.”
“Your 39 weeks pregnant wife. Who could go into labor at any moment. You want her to drive home alone with your four-year-old daughter so you can drink beer and smoke cigars.”
When she said it like that, it sounded even worse.
“Mom, it’s not…”
“Sit down, Alan.”
He sat.
Grace walked around the table until she stood behind my chair. Her hands rested gently on my shoulders.
“Catherine is carrying your child. YOUR child, Alan. She is nine months pregnant, exhausted, and in pain. And instead of taking care of her, you want to send her away so you can party?”
“It’s just one night.”
“One night? What if she goes into labor while you’re drunk here? What then? She calls an Uber to the hospital while you’re too wasted to drive?”
“And another thing.” Grace wasn’t finished. “This woman has been to every doctor’s appointment alone. Every ultrasound. Every checkup. While you’ve been working weekends and playing with your friends.”
My eyes filled with tears. Someone finally saw it. And finally understood.
“She’s been asking you for months to help prepare for this baby. The nursery isn’t finished. You haven’t learned anything about labor or delivery despite having a little daughter. You act like this pregnancy is something that’s happening to YOU instead of something you’re both doing together.”
Kelly stared at her plate. Jake cleared his throat uncomfortably. Zoey looked confused by all the adult tension.
“Mom, you don’t understand…”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that my son has forgotten what it means to be a husband.”
The silence stretched on forever. Alan’s face went from red to white.
“I’m going home,” I whispered.
Grace squeezed my shoulders gently. “I’m coming with you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I pushed back from the table as carefully as I could. Every movement felt like broken glass in my joints.
“Come on, baby girl.” I held out my hand to Zoey. “Let’s go home.”
“Is Daddy coming too?”
I looked at Alan. He sat frozen in his chair, staring at his plate.
“No, honey. Daddy wants to stay here. And party.”
Zoey’s face crumpled slightly, but she took my hand.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone else.
The drive home was quiet except for Grace humming softly in the backseat and Zoey asking why everyone seemed sad.
“Sometimes grown-ups have disagreements, baby,” I managed to say.
“Will you and Daddy be okay?”
I caught Grace’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She gave me a small, sad smile.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I honestly don’t know.”
Back home, Grace
