When my husband got back from his week away, he figured he’d stroll right in like everything was normal. Instead…
When my husband got back from his week away, he figured he’d stroll right in like everything was normal. Instead, he ran into someone in his path—a bright yellow suitcase and a face burning with anger.
The scared look that hit his face made up for every tear I’d shed. Looking back, I should’ve spotted the red flags about Ryan’s true self way before our wedding day. He’d always been the guy who picked his buddies over everything and dodged hard stuff with lame excuses.
Back when we dated, I shrugged it off as him just being young and wild. I kept telling myself marriage would fix him, that real life would force him to grow up. Right after we got engaged, Ryan acted better for a bit.
He gushed about our future and swore all the sweet promises of being a solid husband. “We’re gonna be an awesome team, Emily,” he’d say, grabbing my hands and staring right into my eyes. “I can’t wait to start our life together.”
I bought it hook, line, and sinker.
I needed to believe it. Eight months after tying the knot, I got pregnant, and Ryan was thrilled out of his mind. He spent weekends slapping yellow paint on the nursery walls and putting together the crib so carefully that I figured this was it.
Maybe dad life would turn him into the steady guy I’d waited for. “This kid’s gonna have the world’s best dad,” he’d murmur to my round belly at night. He cracked open baby books and chatted about all he wanted to show our little one.
Those months had me full of hope, seeing him gear up for fatherhood like a pro. But then real life smacked us hard. My pregnancy went south at 37 weeks.
A smooth delivery turned into an emergency C-section when things went wrong fast. The docs moved quick, and lucky for us, our sweet girl Lily came out just fine. But the cut left me wiped out, hurting bad, and stuck needing help for the simplest things.
“Don’t stress, babe,” Ryan promised as I lay foggy in the hospital bed from the meds. “I’ll handle everything for you and Lily once we’re home. You just rest and heal, got it?”
Those first days back were a haze of no sleep, sore wound checks, and figuring out nursing.
Ryan pitched in a little, but I saw he was stressed and out of his depth. He’d swap a diaper if I begged, but never jumped in on his own. He’d cuddle Lily when she was chill, but the second she fussed, she’d land right back in my lap.
“I think she needs her mom” turned into his go-to line whenever it got real. By week four, I was beat to the bone. My scar still throbbed, and shuffling from bed to kitchen had me grimacing the whole way.
That’s when Ryan dropped the wildest bomb. “So, Mike nailed that job bump he’s chased forever,” Ryan tossed out one morning, eyes glued to his phone. “The crew wants to mark it with a full-week beach bash.
Sounds killer.”
I gawked at him, sure a joke was coming. When it didn’t, my chest tightened. “That’s cool for Mike,” I said slow.
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