I was pregnant with our fourth child when my husband left me. No warning, no fight — just a note on the nightstand that said he couldn’t do it anymore. At first, I thought he was overwhelmed.
But the truth was worse than anything I could have imagined. You know how they say you’ll always remember the exact moment your life falls apart? That it happens in a second but echoes forever?
I didn’t realize that moment had already started the day I sat in my OB’s office, gripping my husband’s hand so tightly my fingers ached. I was thirty-six, tired, and a little bloated, but still excited. We were about to find out the gender of our fourth baby.
I looked over at Todd. He was quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flicking to the ultrasound screen like he was watching a stranger’s life unfold. Still, I chalked it up to nerves.
It had been a long week, and I figured he just needed sleep. The doctor smiled kindly as she turned the screen to face us. “Congratulations.
It’s another girl.”
I gasped and turned to Todd, my face beaming. “Another daughter! Todd, can you believe it?
Four little girls!”
I could already picture them — matching pajamas on Christmas morning, singing songs from musicals at the top of their lungs, and leaving glitter trails across the living room floor. The thought made my heart swell. Todd let out a soft chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
His fingers slipped from mine too soon, and I noticed then that something in his face had changed. Like a light had gone out quietly behind his eyes, but I ignored it. Sometimes I caught him staring at the girls as if they were strangers, his expression unreadable.
I didn’t want to believe what my gut already knew. At home, I stayed wrapped in that cloud of baby joy, shopping for tiny pink onesies online, picking out names with the girls, and painting little watercolor flowers to hang in the nursery. But Todd drifted farther away with each passing day.
He stopped laughing at the girls’ jokes. He barely looked up when they’d run into the room yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, look what I drew!”
Dinner became quiet. His chair always felt a little too far from mine.
He’d shut himself in his office after work, the door locked until well after we were all asleep. Even the girls started asking why Daddy was always in his office, their voices filled with confusion. I didn’t know how to answer.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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