I’m 39 weeks pregnant, and last week, at my husband Alan's birthday dinner, I was doing my best to smile through the pain and exhaustion. But then, he turned to me and said something that made me grab my daughter's hand and walk out. That night will stay with me forever, and I’m sure it’ll be something my family won’t forget either.
A pregnant woman undergoing her ultrasound scan at the hospital | Source: Pexels
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
A stunned woman | Source: Midjourney
My name is Catherine, but everyone calls me Cathy. I’m 38, pregnant with baby number two, and I’m now 39 weeks along, so the baby could come any day.
My belly feels like it’s about to pop at any moment. Every step I take sends sharp pains through my legs, and sleep is a distant memory. I haven’t had a full night’s rest in weeks.
We already have Zoey, who’s four—full of energy and an endless supply of questions. This pregnancy has been much harder than the first. The doctor says it’s due to my age—over 35, which means I'm considered high risk.
"Cathy, you need to take it easy," Dr. Smith told me last week. "Rest is crucial now."
Rest? Sure, try telling that to Alan.
Alan has made it to exactly one ultrasound appointment, just one. Meanwhile, I’ve attended every single checkup and test, always alone.
"I have to work, Cath," he says. "Someone has to pay the bills."
But when the weekends come around, he works then too. He left me to juggle Zoey while my back aches, and my feet swell like balloons.
For months, I’ve been asking him to help with the nursery—simple tasks like moving boxes, hanging curtains, setting up the crib.
"I’ll get to it," he promises every time.
And yet, the nursery remains half-finished. Boxes are everywhere, no curtains, and the crib is still leaning against the wall like an afterthought.
Two weeks ago, I asked again, rubbing my aching lower back.
"When are you going to finish this?"
"Soon, Cath. God, you're always nagging."
Nagging. Of course.
Then last Tuesday, Alan’s 39th birthday came around. His sister Kelly called that morning.
"I want to throw him a little party at my place. Just a family dinner—nothing fancy. You, Alan, Zoey, Mom, Dad, and my boyfriend Jake."
I thought it would be nice—a chance for us to have a peaceful evening together.
"That sounds great, Kelly. Thank you."
I spent the afternoon getting ready, or as ready as a nearly full-term pregnant woman can. I slipped into my nicest maternity dress, the one Alan used to compliment me in when I was pregnant with Zoey.
He didn’t even notice.
We arrived at Kelly's apartment at 6 PM. The smell of roast chicken filled the air, soft jazz played in the background, and candles flickered on the dining table. It was perfect.
"Happy birthday, son!" Grace, Alan's mother, hugged him warmly. She’s always been kind to me, more of a mother than my own.
"Thanks, Mom. This looks great, Kel."
Dinner started smoothly. Kelly had made all of Alan's favorites: roast chicken with herbs, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. The birthday cake was chocolate with vanilla frosting, sitting temptingly on the counter.
Zoey chattered about her day at preschool, Grace asked about my pregnancy, and Jake told funny stories from his job at the fire station.
I tried to push through the discomfort in my pelvis and my aching back. This night was about Alan. I wanted it to be special for him.
Then, halfway through the main course, Alan turned to me with a grin, the kind that said he thought he’d just come up with the best idea ever.
"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 in confusion. "What do you mean?"
His grin grew even wider. "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, clattering against the plate.
"You want me to leave? And take Zoey home alone?"
"Well, yeah," Alan shrugged as if this was the most reasonable suggestion. "You’re tired anyway, right? You’re always complaining about being tired. And someone has to put Zoey to bed."
I just stared at him. This man, my husband, the father of our children, had just asked me to leave his birthday dinner, with our daughter, while I was 39 weeks pregnant.
"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. Her voice, when it came, was calm but so sharp, it felt like it could cut through steel.
"Alan." She paused, waiting for his attention. "Would you mind repeating what you just said to your wife?"
Alan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I said..."
"No," Grace held up one finger. "Word for word. What did you just tell Catherine to do?"
Alan's face turned crimson. He looked around the table for support, but no one was offering it.
"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 Grace said it like that, it sounded even worse.
"Mom, it's not like that..."
"Sit down, Alan."
He sat.
Grace walked behind me and placed her hands gently on my shoulders.
"Catherine is carrying your child. YOUR child, Alan. She’s exhausted, she’s in pain, and instead of helping her, you want to send her away so you can party?"
"It's just one night," Alan mumbled.
"One night?" Grace wasn’t finished. "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 continued, her voice steady. "This woman has been to every doctor’s appointment alone. Every ultrasound. Every checkup. You’ve been busy working weekends and playing with your friends."
Tears filled my eyes. Someone finally understood.
"She’s asked you for months to help prepare for this baby. The nursery still isn’t finished. You haven’t even learned anything about labor or delivery. You act like this pregnancy is something that’s happening to YOU, when it’s something you’re both doing together."
Zoey sat quietly, sensing the tension. Kelly stared at her plate, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
"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 in the room felt like it would last forever. Alan’s face was now pale.
"I’m going home," I whispered, standing up.
Grace squeezed my shoulders softly. "I’m coming with you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be alone tonight."
I carefully pushed back from the table. Every movement felt like my bones were breaking under the weight of the pain.
"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, motionless, staring at his plate.
"No, honey. Daddy wants to stay here and party."
Zoey’s face fell, but she still took my hand without a word.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone else.
The car ride home was quiet. Grace hummed softly in the backseat, and Zoey kept asking why everyone seemed so sad.
"Sometimes grown-ups have disagreements, baby," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Will you and Daddy be okay?"
I caught Grace’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She gave me a sad, knowing smile.
"I don’t know, sweetheart. I honestly don’t know."
At home, Grace helped me get Zoey settled in bed while I collapsed onto the couch. My back felt like it had been shattered into a million pieces.
"Grandma, will you read to me?" Zoey asked, clutching her favorite book.
"Of course, little one."
While they read upstairs, I sat there, thinking about my marriage and the man I thought I married, versus the one who had just asked his pregnant wife to leave his birthday party.
When did we become strangers?
Grace came back downstairs with two cups of tea.
"How long has he been like this?" she asked quietly.
"Since I got pregnant. Maybe even before that. I don’t know anymore."
The baby kicked hard, and I winced, rubbing the spot where tiny feet pressed against my skin.
"They’re getting stronger," I said. "The doctor says it could be any day now."
Grace nodded. "Are you scared?"
I thought about it for a moment. A week ago, I would’ve said yes, terrified. But tonight, something had changed.
"Not about the baby. I’m scared about everything else. About what happens next. About whether I can do this alone."
"You won’t be alone, dear. You and this baby are my priority. Whatever my son decides to do, you’ll have me."
The baby kicked again, stronger this time, as if to remind me that soon everything would change.
"I don’t know what I’ll tell this baby about tonight," I whispered. "About their father choosing a party over being here."
Grace reached over, taking my hand. "You’ll tell them they were wanted. Desperately wanted by their mother and grandmother. That’s what matters."
The house felt different now, quieter. Alan still hadn’t come home, and I wondered if he was still at Kelly’s apartment, celebrating his "freedom."
The baby kicked again, stronger this time. They were ready to meet the world, a world that felt different than it had before.
I placed my hands on my belly and whispered, "I don’t know what your daddy’s thinking right now, little one. But I promise you this: You will never doubt that you’re loved. Not for one second."
Soon, I would face hard decisions. About my marriage. About the example I want to set for my children. About whether some behavior can be forgiven.
But for now, I’m just a mother waiting for her baby to arrive. Surrounded by people who truly love us. Ready to fight for the family I want to create, even if it doesn’t look the way I once imagined.
As for the rest? We'll figure it out when the baby gets here.
