I was wrong.
For illustrative purposes only
Two weeks later, I found out my husband was cheating. Not rumors. Not suspicions. Proof. Messages, photos, plans for a future that didn’t include me or the baby growing inside me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just felt… empty. Like my body was going through the motions while my heart had stepped out of the room.
The night my water broke, it was 3 a.m. I was alone in our apartment. I called a taxi because I didn’t trust myself to drive. By the time I climbed into the back seat, contractions were already rolling through me like waves. Then it happened — water everywhere. I panicked, sobbing, apologizing over and over.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I kept saying, mortified.
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