For four years, Julia was everything to me. She was my love, my home, my future. And for the past nine months, she’d also been the mother of the baby we were so ready to meet. From the moment we saw that little blue plus sign, my life became about them — the woman I adored and the child we created.
Julia would sing softly to our unborn baby while cradling her belly, get teary-eyed over commercials, and laugh when I obsessed over parenting books like I was prepping for law school. We were in it together — building a future, a family.
We’d been in the hospital for a week due to Julia’s unstable blood pressure. I barely left her side. The nurses joked about it — especially Maggie, one of our favorites. She’d tease Julia:
“Want me to lock Ethan out yet?”
Julia would giggle and say, “Never! He brings me chocolate-covered strawberries!”
But then the unimaginable happened.
I woke up from a nap and realized the room was empty. Then I heard the chaos down the hall — frantic voices, a rush of medical staff. Julia was being wheeled into delivery. I ran toward her, heart pounding.
But before I could reach her side, Maggie stood in my path.
“Get out of here, Ethan!” she shouted.
I froze. “What? Maggie, it’s me. I’m her husband.“
Her words sliced through me like ice.
“Only the baby’s real father can stay.”
I stared at her, stunned. “What did you just say?”
Without answering, she shoved me back and the delivery room doors slammed in my face.
I stood there, alone, confused — and broken.
Everything I thought I knew about my life was just ripped from beneath me…
And I needed answers.
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