Thirty-four weeks pregnant, I was jolted awake by my husband’s cries: “Mary, get up! Fire!” Adrenaline rushed as I scrambled to protect my baby. But when I reached the living room, laughter erupted—Daniel and his friends had staged a cruel prank. “How could you do this?” I demanded, tears streaming. His apologies fell flat. The trauma of my childhood house fire made this betrayal unbearable.
Daniel dismissed my lifelong fear of fire, calling it paranoia. “There’s a smoke alarm; what’s the worst that could happen?” he’d say. I shared memories of losing my dog and home in the fire, but he never truly listened. That night confirmed my fears: he didn’t respect my boundaries or feelings.
Shaken, I called my dad, who rushed to my side. “You’re worth more than this, Mary,” he said, helping me pack my things. Daniel’s dismissive attitude only solidified my resolve.
The next morning, I filed for divorce. “Daniel played with my fears,” I thought, “and that wasn’t a joke.” Apologies and promises couldn’t undo the emotional damage.
Now, two days later, I reflect: my baby deserves a safe, loving home. Daniel’s actions proved he wasn’t the partner or father I needed. What would you do?
