He chose his parents and a nonrefundable flight

�Ethan, my due date is next week,� I said.

He waved that away like I was talking about a minor headache.

�Due dates are estimates. Babies come late all the time. Besides, the tickets are nonrefundable.�

I asked if he was serious.

He looked offended and said it was a family trip.

I told him our family was about to include a newborn. Our son could come any day.

Ethan sighed like I was being dramatic on purpose. He said I was not the first pregnant woman in the world and that his mother had flown when she was carrying him.

I reminded him I was not eight months pregnant. I was one day away from full-term delivery and supposed to stay close to the hospital.

He said if I refused to go, he would just go with his parents.

I asked if he would really leave me alone this close to labor.

He said I had a phone, neighbors, ride-share apps, and a hospital nearby.

Then he added that I was turning fatherhood into a prison before the baby had even arrived.

A few minutes later, Denise called.

Ethan put her on speaker.

She said men needed a moment, too, because once the baby came, everything would be about me and the child.

Gerald added from the background that women had babies every day and I would be fine.

Denise told me that if I started acting helpless now, Ethan would never get any peace as a father.

I said peace did not mean abandoning responsibility.

Denise gave a soft laugh, the kind that sounded polite but felt like a slap.

�You�ll understand marriage better when you stop expecting your husband to orbit around you,� she said.

I looked at Ethan.

�If you leave and something happens, I will not forget it,� I told him quietly.

He asked if that was a threat.

I said it was a boundary.

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the anger under it.

After that, he treated me like I was punishing him. He answered with short phrases, complained about my hospital bag by the door, and installed the car seat incorrectly before telling me to stop nagging.

I fixed it myself in the driveway while he watched golf highlights inside.

I remember kneeling beside the open car door, sweating, trying to follow the instruction video while the baby pressed painfully against my ribs. Every time the straps clicked wrong, I thought about how Ethan would have blamed me if anything happened on the way home from the hospital.

That was when Meera came by with chicken noodle soup and banana bread.

She noticed my tired face, the hospital bag by the front door, and the way I kept rubbing my lower back.

She asked if I had someone to drive me to the hospital if labor started.

I wanted to say my husband, but the words would not come out.

Meera placed her hand over mine and said, �Call me day or night. No questions.�

I almost cried right there because she had offered me more comfort in one sentence than Ethan had offered me in weeks.

That night, Ethan went out with friends for what he called �one last normal evening before fatherhood.�

He said it like fatherhood was a jail sentence, and I was the guard locking the door.

He came home after midnight smelling like beer and fried food, then fell asleep without asking why I was sitting upright with tears in my eyes.

I had been timing irregular contractions for two hours.

They faded before morning, but my fear did not.

I looked at Ethan sleeping peacefully beside me and understood that if the real pain started, I might still be completely alone.

The morning he left began with suitcase wheels scraping across the hallway floor.

Ethan pulled his luggage past the bedroom while I sat on the edge of the bed, breathing through a low pressure that had woken me before sunrise.