I’m 39 weeks pregnant, and last week I found myself trying to smile through the discomfort and exhaustion at my husband’s birthday dinner. Then he said something that made me take my daughter’s hand and leave. That night will stay with me forever. And I doubt anyone else at that table will forget it either.
My name is Catherine, though most people call me Cathy. I’m 38 years old and almost at the end of my pregnancy with our second child. The baby could arrive any moment now.
My belly feels so tight it might as well be a balloon about to pop. Every step sends jolts of pain down my legs. Sleep has become a distant memory—I haven’t had a full night’s rest in weeks.
We already have a daughter, Zoey. She’s four, full of energy and endless questions. This pregnancy, though, has been a different experience. Much harder, to be honest. According to the doctor, it’s largely because I’m over 35, which puts me in the “high-risk” category.
“Cathy, you need to slow down,” Dr. Smith advised me last week. “You need proper rest right now.”
Rest. Sure. Someone should mention that to Alan.
My husband has only managed to attend one ultrasound throughout this pregnancy. One single visit, despite there having been so many. Meanwhile, I’ve been handling every appointment, every test, and every anxious moment on my own.
“I have to work, Cath,” he always says. “Someone’s got to bring in the money.”
But even on weekends? He’s still working. Voluntarily, at that. Leaving me to run after our four-year-old while my back aches and my feet feel like overfilled water balloons.
I’ve been asking him for help with the nursery for months now. Just small tasks—moving a few boxes, hanging curtains, putting the crib together.
“I’ll get around to it,” he says. Every time. Without fail.
But the nursery still looks half-done. Boxes clutter the floor. No curtains. The crib still leans unused against the wall, as if he’s forgotten about it.
“When are you going to take care of this?” I asked him two weeks ago, trying to ease the pain in my lower back.
“Soon, Cath. God, you’re always on my case.”
On my case. Sure.
So, last Tuesday was Alan’s 39th birthday. His sister Kelly gave me a call that morning.
“I want to do something small for Alan’s birthday,” she said. “Just a little dinner at my place. You, Alan, Zoey, Mom, Dad, and Jake.”
It sounded nice—simple. I figured we could manage one peaceful night together.
“That sounds lovely, Kelly. Thanks.”
That afternoon, I did my best to get ready. As much as a woman who looks like she swallowed a beach ball could, anyway. I put on my nicest maternity dress—the one that used to make Alan smile when I was pregnant with Zoey.
He didn’t even seem to notice.
We got to Kelly’s around six. The apartment smelled like roast chicken. Jazz played softly in the background. Candles flickered on the dinner table. It all felt warm and welcoming.
“Happy birthday, son!” Grace, Alan’s mother, wrapped him in a tight hug. She’s always been good to me—more like a mother than my own ever was.
“Thanks, Mom. This looks awesome, Kel.”
Dinner started off well. Kelly had made all of Alan’s favorites. Roast chicken with herbs. Creamy mashed potatoes. Green bean casserole. The birthday cake, a chocolate one with vanilla frosting, waited on the counter.
Zoey chattered happily about her day at preschool. Grace asked about how I was feeling. Jake shared funny stories from the fire station.
I tried to ignore the weight in my pelvis and the stabbing pain in my back every time I shifted in my seat. It was Alan’s birthday, and I wanted the night to be good for him.
Then, midway through dinner, Alan turned to me with a grin like he’d just solved some grand puzzle.
“Hey, Cath, how about this? After dinner, you take Zoey home and put her to bed. I’ll stay a bit longer with everyone here and keep the celebration going.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
His grin widened. “Come on, babe. This might be my last chance to enjoy myself before the baby comes. I want to have a few beers with Jake. Maybe step out onto the balcony and smoke a cigar. Stay up late for once—like old times.”
My fork dropped from my hand and clinked against the plate.
“You want me to leave? And take Zoey home on my own?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged like it was the most logical thing in the world. “You’re always saying how tired you are. And someone has to get Zoey to bed.”
I stared at the man I’ve shared the last eight years with. The one I thought would always have my back. The person I believed was my partner.
“Alan. I’m 39 weeks pregnant. I could go into labor tonight.”
“Oh, Cath, stop being so dramatic.”
That’s when Grace placed her fork down, stood up, and leveled her son with a look that could stop time.
“Alan,” she said in a voice as cold as ice. “Repeat what you just said to your wife.”
“I said—”
“No.” She raised her finger. “Word for word. Say it again.”
Alan flushed. He scanned the table, maybe hoping someone would back him up. But nobody did.
“I asked her to take Zoey home so I could celebrate a bit longer.”
“Let me get this straight,” Grace replied. “You asked your wife—who is 39 weeks pregnant, who could go into labor at any minute—to drive home alone with your four-year-old daughter, just so you can sit here and have some drinks and smoke cigars?”
When she phrased it that way, it sounded even more appalling.
“Mom, it’s not—”
“Sit down, Alan.”
He obeyed.
Grace walked around the table and stood behind my chair. She placed her hands gently on my shoulders.
“Catherine is carrying your child. Your child, Alan. She’s nine months pregnant, in pain, exhausted. And instead of supporting her, you want to send her home by herself so you can have a fun night?”
“It’s just for one evening.”
“One evening? What if she goes into labor while you’re here getting drunk? What happens then? She calls a cab while you’re too buzzed to drive?”
She wasn’t finished.
“And let’s not forget—this woman has gone to every appointment on her own. Every scan. Every doctor’s visit. While you’re working weekends and spending your time with your buddies.”
Tears welled in my eyes. For the first time, someone was truly seeing me. And standing up for me.
“She’s asked you countless times to help prepare for this baby. The nursery’s still a mess. You’ve made no effort to learn about childbirth, despite already having a daughter. You’re acting like this pregnancy is just something happening around you, not something you’re a part of.”
Kelly stared down at her plate. Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Zoey looked puzzled by the tension in the room.
“Mom, you don’t get it—”
“Oh, I get it just fine. My son has forgotten what being a husband means.”
Silence hung over the table. Alan’s face went pale.
“I’m going home,” I whispered.
Grace squeezed my shoulders gently. “I’m coming with you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I slowly pushed my chair back, every movement sending pain through my hips.
“Come on, baby girl,” I said to Zoey. “Let’s go home.”
“Is Daddy coming?”
I looked over at Alan. He remained frozen, staring down at his plate.
“No, sweetheart. Daddy wants to stay and keep celebrating.”
Zoey’s little face started to crumble, but she slipped her hand into mine without protest.
I didn’t say another word to anyone.
The ride home was quiet, except for Grace humming softly and Zoey asking why everyone seemed upset.
“Sometimes grown-ups don’t agree, baby,” I managed to say.
“Will you and Daddy be okay?”
I caught Grace’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She gave me a gentle, sad smile.
“I don’t know, honey. I really don’t know.”
Back at the house, Grace helped me settle Zoey for the night while I collapsed onto the couch, my back screaming.
“Grandma, will you read me a story?” Zoey asked, clutching her favorite book.
“Of course, sweet pea.”
While they were upstairs, I sat in the living room, lost in thought. Thinking about the man I married, and how far he seemed from that person now.
When had we become strangers?
Grace returned with two mugs of tea.
“How long has he been like this?”
“Since I got pregnant. Maybe longer. I’m not sure anymore.”
The baby kicked hard under my ribs. I flinched and pressed my hand against the movement.
“That was a strong one,” Grace said, watching me closely.
“They’ve been getting stronger. Doctor says it could happen anytime.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Are you scared?”
I thought about it. A week ago, I would’ve said yes. I was scared of everything. But tonight, something inside me shifted.
“I’m not afraid of the baby. I’m scared of everything else. Of what happens after. Of whether I can do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone,” Grace said firmly. “I meant it