But instead of coming back quickly, he stepped into the hallway. At first, I tried to keep my focus, breathing through the pain.
Then his phone buzzed again. He read the message, his face clouding with worry. “What’s wrong?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.
My voice trembled as another contraction gripped me, leaving me nearly breathless.
“I… I need to go, Aria,” he murmured, avoiding my gaze. “Just for a bit. I’ll be quick.”
“Quick? Dave, I’m in labor! You can’t leave now!” I almost shouted, my body straining with pain and my mind spinning with disbelief.
“I know, I know… but it’s Mom,” he said, almost pleading, “she needs my help badly.”
I couldn’t comprehend it. My pulse quickened, my stomach tightened, and I felt the hot sting of tears. “For groceries?” I yelled, my voice cracking. “You’re leaving me in labor for groceries?”
“Yes,” he said defensively. “She can’t carry them alone.”
I was stunned. My mind raced. Was this really happening? Was he really prioritizing a bag of groceries over the birth of our child, the moment I had waited for months, the moment that would shape our lives forever?
I forced myself to focus on the labor, to control my breathing, to channel my pain into bringing our daughter safely into the world.
But the sting of his absence lingered, a constant shadow over what should have been a sacred moment.
Then my phone buzzed. I glanced at it and saw a message from him: I’ll be back soon, Aria. Mom just needed help with groceries.
I was speechless. My blood pressure spiked almost immediately from stress and shock. The nurse, Gloria, noticed at once. “What’s going on?” she asked gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“My husband… he left me here. His mother needed help with groceries,” I said, my voice breaking as tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” she exclaimed, her expression a mixture of sympathy and outrage. “During labor? That’s unbelievable. You need support — let’s call someone who can be here for you right now.”
