Andrew kissed my belly every night before bed. He told our daughter stories, even though she couldn’t hear him yet. But as my pregnancy progressed, something in him changed.
It was subtle at first. He stayed out later than usual. He started meeting friends more often, coming home smelling like beer and cigarette smoke.
When I asked him about it, he brushed it off, saying it was stress or secondhand smoke. Then he grew distant. He stopped touching my belly.
His kisses became rushed. His eyes weren’t where they used to be. When I asked if something was wrong, he said it was work.
That was all he ever said. By the time I reached thirty-five weeks, I was exhausted in every sense of the word. My body ached constantly.
My feet swelled painfully. Sleep came in short, restless stretches. My doctor had warned me that labor could start at any time, so I kept my hospital bag packed and ready.
Continue reading…
