I’m 39 weeks pregnant—and I walked out of my husband’s birthday dinner. I’ll never forget that night.
My name is Catherine, but everyone calls me Cathy. I’m 38 years old, and at 39 weeks pregnant, I feel like I’m carrying a whole planet in my belly. The baby could arrive at any moment.
Every step I take sends lightning bolts of pain down my back and legs. My skin stretches so tightly around my stomach I’m sure it’ll pop. And sleep? I’ve forgotten what that even is.
We already have a daughter, Zoey. She’s four—full of pigtails, giggles, and a million questions a day. But this pregnancy? It’s been so much harder. The doctor told me it’s because I’m over 35.
“Cathy, you need to rest. It’s critical at this stage,” Dr. Smith said gently last week.
Rest. That would be nice. But try telling that to my husband, Alan.
He’s been to one ultrasound. One. Out of the dozens I’ve had. I’ve done every test, every check-up, and faced every worry on my own.
“I have to work, Cath. Someone’s gotta keep the lights on,” he says. Always the same line.
Weekends? He’s “working” then too. Meanwhile, I’m chasing Zoey around, holding my aching back, feet swollen to twice their size.
For months, I begged him to help with the nursery. Simple things: move boxes, hang some curtains, assemble the crib.
“I’ll get to it,” he’d say, over and over.
But the nursery still looked like a storage room. Boxes stacked in corners. Curtains still rolled up in plastic. The crib leaning against the wall, unopened. Forgotten.
Two weeks ago, I stood at the nursery door, rubbing my back.
“When are you going to finish this, Alan?”
“Soon, Cath. God, stop nagging,” he snapped.
Nagging. That’s what he called it.
Then came Tuesday—Alan’s 39th birthday.
His sister, Kelly, called me that morning.
“Hey! I want to throw a little dinner party for Alan tonight at my place. Nothing huge. Just close family—me, you, Zoey, Mom, Dad, and Jake.”
That sounded lovely. Maybe we could have just one peaceful evening.
“Thank you, Kelly. That sounds perfect,” I said, trying not to sound too tired.
I spent the afternoon getting ready as best as I could. I squeezed into my old maternity dress—the one Alan used to say made me glow when I was pregnant with Zoey.
This time? He didn’t even look at me.
We got to Kelly’s place around six. The apartment smelled amazing—roast chicken and fresh herbs. Soft jazz played in the background. Candles flickered on the table. It was like a dream.
“Happy birthday, son!” Alan’s mom, Grace, hugged him tightly. She’s always been more of a mother to me than my own.
“Thanks, Mom. Looks great, Kel,” Alan smiled.
Dinner started out nicely. Kelly had made all of Alan’s favorite foods—chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. The chocolate cake sat proudly on the counter, ready to be cut.
Zoey chattered about preschool. Grace asked how I was feeling. Jake told some hilarious stories from the firehouse. I tried to smile and nod, even though my back was screaming.
I was holding on. Just barely. This was Alan’s night, and I wanted him to enjoy it.
But halfway through dinner, Alan looked at me with this big, excited grin—like he had the best idea in the world.
“You know what, Cath? After dinner, why don’t you take Zoey home and get her to bed? I’ll stay here and hang out with everyone.”
I blinked. “What?”
He chuckled. “Come on, babe. This is probably my last chance to really have fun before the baby gets here. I wanna have some beers with Jake. Maybe a cigar on the balcony. Stay up late like old times.”
My fork slipped from my hand and clattered against the plate.
“You want me to leave? With Zoey? By myself?”
He shrugged. “Well, yeah. You’re always saying how tired you are. And someone’s gotta put Zoey to bed.”
I stared at him, this man I’ve loved for eight years. My husband. My partner.
“Alan. I’m 39 weeks pregnant. The baby could come tonight.”
“Oh come on, Cath. Don’t be so dramatic!”
That’s when Grace slowly set her fork down. She stood and gave Alan a look that could freeze fire.
“Alan. Would you mind repeating what you just said to your wife?”
He shifted in his chair. “I said—”
“No. Word for word.” Her voice was sharp. “Say it again.”
Alan looked around, hoping someone would back him up. Nobody did.
“I asked her to take Zoey home so I could keep celebrating,” he muttered.
Grace’s voice was ice. “So let me get this straight. Your wife, who is 39 weeks pregnant, is supposed to drive home alone with your daughter—just so you can drink and smoke cigars?”
“It’s just one night—”
“And what if she goes into labor while you’re sitting here drunk? What then? She calls a cab to the hospital while you’re too tipsy to pick up your phone?”
She wasn’t done.
“She’s been going to every doctor’s appointment alone. Every scan. Every test. While you’ve been off working and hanging out with your buddies.”
I felt the tears finally come. Someone saw me. Someone understood.
“The nursery’s still not done. She’s been asking for your help for months. You haven’t even prepared for the birth. You treat this like it’s her pregnancy. But it’s yours too, Alan.”
Jake cleared his throat awkwardly. Kelly stared at her plate. Zoey looked around, confused.
“Mom, you don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand just fine,” Grace snapped. “I understand that my son has forgotten how to be a husband.”
Silence filled the room like fog. Alan’s face turned white.
“I’m going home,” I whispered.
Grace walked behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders.
“I’m coming with you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I slowly stood up, my whole body aching.
“Come on, baby girl,” I said, holding out my hand to Zoey.
“Is Daddy coming too?” she asked softly.
I looked at Alan, still frozen in his seat.
“No, honey. Daddy wants to stay and party.”
Zoey’s eyes welled up, but she took my hand. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone else.
The drive home was quiet. Grace hummed a lullaby softly in the back seat. Zoey asked, “Why did everyone look so sad, Mommy?”
I swallowed hard. “Sometimes grown-ups argue, baby. That’s all.”
“Are you and Daddy gonna be okay?”
I caught Grace’s eyes in the mirror. She gave me a small, sad smile.
“I don’t know yet, sweetheart. I really don’t know.”
Back home, Grace helped me get Zoey ready for bed while I collapsed on the couch. My back felt like it had been smashed with bricks.
“Grandma, will you read me a story?” Zoey asked, clutching her favorite book.
“Of course, my love,” Grace said gently.
While they read upstairs, I sat there, staring at nothing. Thinking. Wondering.
When did Alan and I become strangers?
Grace came back down with two cups of tea.
“How long has he been like this?”
“Since I got pregnant. Maybe even before. I’m not sure anymore.”
The baby kicked hard against my ribs. I winced and rubbed the spot.
“That one looked strong,” Grace said, watching carefully.
“Yeah. The doctor says it’ll be soon.”
She nodded. “Are you scared?”
A week ago, I would’ve said yes. But tonight, something had shifted inside me.
“Not of the baby. I’m scared of everything else. What comes after. Whether I can do this on my own.”
Grace reached for my hand.
“You won’t be alone. You and that baby are my priority now. Whatever my son does, I’m here.”
Another kick. Strong. This little soul was almost ready.
“I keep wondering what I’ll tell this baby about tonight. About their father choosing a party over us.”
Grace squeezed my hand. “Tell them they were loved. That their mother and grandmother couldn’t wait to meet them. That’s what matters.”
The house felt different now. Still and quiet. Like everything had shifted during one dinner.
Alan still hadn’t come home. Maybe he was still partying. Still pretending he wasn’t about to become a father again.
I placed both hands on my belly.
“I don’t know what your daddy’s thinking, little one. But I promise you this: You will never question how loved you are. Not even for a second.”
Big choices are ahead. Hard ones. About my marriage. About the kind of example I want to set for my kids. About what’s forgivable… and what’s not.
For now, I’m just a mother, waiting for her baby. And I’m ready to fight for the family my children deserve, even if it doesn’t look like the one I once dreamed of.
The rest? We’ll figure that out—once the baby arrives.