He chose his parents and a nonrefundable flight

�I don�t feel right,� I told him.

He said I was probably nervous because I had worked myself up about the trip.

I reminded him my due date was the next day.

He said he would be back before dinner if everything went according to plan.

That sentence almost made me laugh.

Nothing about pregnancy had gone according to plan. But Ethan�s plan involved golf clubs, airport coffee, and his parents smiling in vacation pictures. Apparently, that was the only plan that mattered.

He packed protein bars into his carry-on while his phone kept buzzing.

Denise wanted to know if he had left yet.

Gerald wanted to know if he had packed the golf glove.

I asked him one more time to stay. Not forever. Just until our son was born safely.

Ethan looked irritated instead of guilty.

�Maya, I cannot live my life around your anxiety,� he said.

I went quiet.

He took my silence as permission and loaded his suitcase into the SUV.

I followed him outside because part of me still believed that if he saw me standing there, pale and shaking, he would remember I was his wife.

The morning was clear and bright. A lawn mower hummed somewhere down the block. A small American flag moved gently on a neighbor�s porch. It looked like any other safe, ordinary suburban morning.

He shut the trunk and checked his watch.

I opened my mouth to say his name.

Then warmth rushed down my legs.

I looked down and saw fluid spreading across my leggings and onto the concrete.

�My water broke,� I whispered.

Then louder.

�Ethan, my water broke. I need to go to the hospital now.�

For one second, he looked panicked.

I reached for the passenger door, thinking he would finally choose us.

Instead, his eyes dropped to the seat.

He grabbed an old towel from the garage shelf and started wiping the edge of the passenger side, even though I had not even sat down.

I told him the baby was coming.

He snapped that he knew and told me to stop yelling.

I was not yelling.

I was terrified.

His phone buzzed again. He read the message and cursed because his parents were already at the airport.

I told him to drive me to St. Agnes Medical Center. It was less than twenty minutes away.

He rubbed both hands over his face.

�Maya, listen to me,� he said. �You will be fine. Call a taxi or an Uber. The tickets are nonrefundable, and my parents are waiting.�

I asked if he was really leaving his laboring wife in the driveway.

He said I was making it sound worse than it was.

He said first babies took hours, hospitals had staff for this, and he would only be standing around uselessly.

Then he asked what I expected him to do there anyway.

�Hold my hand while I scream?�

Something inside me went cold.

I tried to grab the door handle, but he stepped between me and the car.

�Do not get in like that,� he said, looking at my wet leggings. �I just had the interior cleaned.�

That was when I stopped begging.