When I gave birth to my beautiful baby boy, Zevon, I thought it would be the happiest day of my life. But an unexpected betrayal shattered my world, leaving me devastated and alone. I packed my bags and left with our newborn, forcing my husband to face his priorities.
A few weeks ago, I brought Zevon into the world after a tough pregnancy filled with sleepless nights and constant worry. But the moment I held him in my arms, it all felt worth it. The plan was simple: my husband, Faelar, would pick us up from the hospital, and we’d start our new life as a family.
I pictured him holding Zevon, his eyes sparkling with joy. That image carried me through the hardest days. The day we were discharged, I was buzzing with excitement.
Zevon was wrapped in a soft blanket, and every little sound he made warmed my heart. I kept checking the clock, each minute dragging slower than the last. Faelar was supposed to be here.
I glanced at my phone—no missed calls, no texts. My excitement twisted into worry. “Are you okay?” the nurse asked, noticing my restlessness.
“I think so,” I said, unsure. “My husband’s just running late.”
I called Faelar, but it went to voicemail. I sent texts, each one more desperate.
An hour passed, and still no word. My mind raced—had he crashed? Was he hurt?
Finally, my phone buzzed. Relief hit me, but it vanished when I read the message: “Sorry, babe, I’ll be an hour late. At the mall.
Huge sale at my favorite sneaker store, couldn’t miss it.”
I stared at the screen, feeling the floor collapse beneath me. My hands shook as I held Zevon, my heart pounding. How could he?
Here I was, cradling our newborn, ready to start our life together, and he was shopping for sneakers. “Are you alright?” the nurse asked, her voice soft but worried. Tears spilled over.
“He… he’s at the mall. For a sneaker sale.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she didn’t hesitate. “Let me drive you home,” she said firmly.
“You shouldn’t face this alone.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, torn between gratitude and humiliation. “Absolutely,” she said, taking Zevon’s car seat. “You’ve been through enough.
Let me help.”
The drive home was heavy with silence. I could barely look at Zevon without a lump rising in my throat. This was supposed to be a joyful day, ruined by something so trivial.
When we pulled into the driveway, I braced myself. Inside, Faelar sat on the couch, surrounded by shopping bags, grinning proudly at his new sneakers. He looked up, and when he saw my tear-streaked face, his smile faded to confusion.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, completely clueless. “Faelar,” I said, my voice trembling with anger and heartbreak, “you missed picking us up from the hospital because you were buying sneakers! Do you know how much that hurt?”
The realization hit him, but his next words made it worse.
“I thought you could just take an Uber. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just the ride—it was what it meant.
He wasn’t there for us, choosing shoes over his family. My world shattered, and all I wanted was to get away, to think, to breathe. The nurse touched my shoulder gently.
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