I was eight months pregnant when my husband told me he “needed space.” The words hung in our quiet living room like a heavy weight. Daniel wouldn’t meet my eyes as he stuffed clothes into an old duffel bag. “Our baby is going to be here in just a few weeks,” I reminded him, but he simply whispered that he needed time to think. Then he walked through the front door and disappeared.
For the next two weeks, every call went to voicemail and every message remained unanswered. I spent my nights wondering whether Daniel had stopped loving me or whether there was someone else. Then, one rainy evening, a dull ache began in my lower back. Within an hour, the contractions became strong enough to steal my breath. I reached for my phone to call an ambulance when suddenly it rang. Daniel’s name appeared on the screen—but when I answered, another man’s voice spoke.
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