He said, “Hey, it’s Derek. I’m at the hospital. She didn’t make it.” Then he hung up.
My husband rushed to the hospital, arriving just as I was waking up. He began shouting the moment he saw us, and security had to escort him out. He didn’t even get to see our daughter until the next day because I was asleep and the staff needed my written consent to allow him back in.
My entire family thought Derek’s prank was cruel, but we all agreed my husband deserved it. Derek keeps reminding him that I nearly died because we had waited for him. He used to be mostly indifferent toward my husband, but now he can hardly stand him—you can see it in his face every time they’re in the same room.
Once things began to calm down, my husband tried to apologize. He kept saying he never meant to cause so much stress and that he “just wanted to be sure” about the baby. But his words felt empty to me.
The betrayal had cut too deep. I told him, “How can I ever trust you again?”
We eventually decided to try counseling, hoping we could somehow rebuild our relationship. The sessions were difficult—filled with tears, anger, and painful honesty.
One day, I completely broke down and told him, “I needed you. You weren’t there. You chose your doubts over your family.”
Derek’s anger toward my husband didn’t fade either.
He stayed polite for my sake, but the tension was always there. Every family gathering felt like walking on eggshells. My husband sensed it too, and the strain between us only deepened.
Over time, though, my husband began to change. He became more patient, more attentive, and tried to show me that he could be trusted again. He threw himself into caring for our daughter—feeding her, changing her, rocking her to sleep—anything he could do to help.
One night he told me, “I want to earn your trust back, Anna. I know I messed up, but I want to fix this.”
It’s been a long, painful journey, and we’re still not completely healed. But despite everything, I’m hopeful.
