Thirty-four weeks pregnant and fast asleep, I was jolted awake by my husband’s urgent cries in the dead of night. His reason shattered my world, and by morning, I had no choice but to file for divorce.
It’s been five years since Daniel and I met, and our marriage has been perfect… or so I thought.
“You’re being ridiculous, Mary,” my husband would say whenever I worried about fire. “There’s a smoke alarm, what’s the worst that could happen?”
But I couldn’t shake off the fear.
“My Mom’s house burned down when I was 17. We lost our pet dog, Grampa. The smell of smoke still haunts me, Dan,” I once told Daniel, but he just patted my hand and said not to worry.
I remembered that fateful night—the smell of smoke, the sound of sirens, and the feeling of panic as Dad, Mom, and I crawled out from under the smoke.
Our neighbors and the rescue team saved us, but we lost everything. The trauma still lingers, and Daniel’s constant reassurances did nothing to calm my fears.
Lately, I’d been double-checking everything before bed. I make sure the electrical outlets are off, the stove is unplugged, and there are no lit candles.
Daniel would get annoyed, but I couldn’t help it. My heart and mind wouldn’t listen. I had to be sure we were safe… that our baby was safe.
“We’re not going to have a house fire, Mary. You’re just being paranoid,” Daniel would say. But I knew what I felt.
Two nights ago, he came home from work with his friends. They lounged in the living room, creating quite a disturbance.
I pulled him aside and asked him to send them away, explaining that I needed some peace and quiet. Daniel insisted they were just having “harmless fun” and that he wanted to enjoy time with his friends before the baby arrived.
I didn’t argue any further and just grabbed my pregnancy pillow before storming upstairs to our bedroom.
I drifted off to sleep as the noise from downstairs slowly faded. Suddenly, I heard Daniel’s booming voice: “Mary, honey, get up! Get up! Fire, fire, fire! Get up!”
My heart skipped a beat as adrenaline coursed through my body.
A shocked woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels
I grabbed my pillow and blanket, instinctively covering my belly as if to protect it. I opened the door and rushed downstairs, yelling for Daniel to open the door and call the fire department.
When I reached the living room, Daniel’s friends burst out laughing. Daniel walked over to them, cackling like a hyena. I was confused and disoriented.
“What’s going on?” I asked, still trying to process the situation.
A man laughing with his arms crossed | Source: Freepik
Daniel continued to laugh, explaining that his friends wanted to have some “fun” and play a prank on me. They had told him to yell “Fire! Fire!” to scare me.
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Anger and fear surged to the surface. I stopped Daniel in his tracks and confronted him.
“How could you do this to me? How could you play with my fear like this?” I yelled, tears streaming down my cheeks.
An annoyed woman holding her head | Source: Pexels
Daniel’s laughter faded, and he began apologizing profusely. But it was too late. The damage was done. My heart was racing, and my mind was reeling.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Daniel,” I retorted, turning and storming back upstairs.
I locked myself in our bedroom, trying to collect my thoughts. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I thought about Daniel’s carelessness.
How could he not understand that this was still a trigger for me? That the smell of smoke and the sound of sirens would always be etched in my memory like a scar?
A man laughing with his hands on his hip | Source: Freepik
I couldn’t believe I had let him do this to me. I thought we were past this. I thought we were working on trust and understanding.
As I sat down on the bed, I felt trapped. The walls seemed to close in on me. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down, but my mind kept racing.
Why would Daniel do this? Had he forgotten what I’d been through? Did he simply not care about my feelings? I was used to his childish pranks, but this? This was cruel.
A pregnant woman sitting on the bed holding her belly | Source: Pexels
I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand.
I grabbed my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.
“Dad?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Hey, kiddo,” my Dad’s warm voice answered. “What’s going on?”
A senior man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
My Dad’s tone turned serious. “Okay, sweetie, calm down. Tell me what happened.”
I took another deep breath and explained everything, from the prank to my subsequent meltdown.
When I finished, my Dad listened in silence for a moment before speaking. “Mary, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m on my way.”
A pregnant woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
A lump formed in my throat. “Dad, sometimes I feel trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and anxiety.”
My Dad’s voice softened. “You’re not alone, Mary. You’re strong, and you can get through this. We’ll figure it out together.”
Ten minutes later, I heard the familiar sound of Dad’s car pulling up outside.
The door opened, and my Dad stepped in, his expression stern. “Mary, come on. We’re leaving.”
Night shot of vehicles on the street | Source: Pexels
I nodded and gathered my belongings. Daniel remained seated on the couch, his smug, unconcerned expression unchanged. His friends had long since left after the chaos they’d created. I ignored him and focused on packing my things.
“You’re lucky I didn’t lose it on you right now, buddy,” he muttered under his breath.
Close-up of an angry senior man’s eyes | Source: Pexels
We drove in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the hum of the engine, soft music, and the distant pitter-patter of rain.
Finally, my Dad spoke up. “That boy’s got some serious issues. He knows better than to push you around like that.”
I felt a pang of sadness at the thought of Daniel’s actions. “I know, Dad. It’s just… sometimes I feel like he doesn’t care about me or my feelings.”
A car on an empty road on a rainy night | Source: Pexels
My Dad put a hand on my knee. “You’re worth so much more than this, Mary. Don’t let him dim your light.”
I smiled slightly at his words, feeling a sense of comfort wash over me.
We arrived home, and Dad opened the door. “Let’s get you inside and settled. We’ll deal with Daniel later.”
In the quiet of the night, the full impact of Daniel’s actions hit me. It wasn’t a joke; it was a deliberate attempt to frighten me, and while I was pregnant, no less.
A pregnant woman sitting on the bed holding a glass of water | Source: Pexels
The next morning, I woke up with a sense of determination. I couldn’t let Daniel’s behavior define our relationship or my pregnancy. I needed to take control and protect myself and my baby.
I called my lawyer and filed for divorce, knowing it wouldn’t be easy, but it was necessary.
Close-up of divorce papers on a brown table | Source: Pexels
My Dad was supportive, as always, but my Mom was less understanding. She kept telling me that I was overreacting and that Daniel didn’t mean to hurt me.
But I knew better. Daniel had played with my fears, and that wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t just about me; it was about our child, too. What kind of father would he be if he couldn’t even respect his partner’s boundaries or fears?
An upset woman covering her face | Source: Pexels
It’s been two days since I made the difficult decision to initiate divorce proceedings. Daniel has been bombarding me with apologies and promises to change, but it’s too late. The damage is done, and my feelings have been irreparably hurt.
I’ve come to realize that my emotions aren’t something to be taken lightly or toyed with, and it’s high time Daniel understood that.
Close-up of a man using a smartphone | Source: Pexels
What would you do if you were in my shoes? Would you take control, prioritize your safety and well-being, and protect your child from the toxic influence of someone who didn’t care about your feelings or well-being? Or would you choose to forgive and forget, hoping that things would magically get better?
Close-up of a pregnant woman holding her baby bump | Source: Unsplash
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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.