I closed my eyes, trying to will away the aching, grinding pain in my lower back.
The eighth month of pregnancy had been a brutal campaign against my body. My most fervent desire was to simply lie down in a quiet, dark room.
The bedroom door burst open, and my husband, Alex, strode in, his face lit up with a boyish excitement. “Kate, honey! I have great news!”
I took a slow, deep breath. “What is it?”
“My parents and my sister are coming for dinner tonight!” he blurted out.
A cold dread washed over me. “Oh, Alex,” I pleaded, “You know how I’m feeling. Can we please postpone? I’m so, so tired.”
His happy expression vanished. “Kate, don’t exaggerate. It’s just dinner. You’re strong. You can handle it.” He paused, and then delivered the word that felt like a slap. “Don’t be so selfish.”
Selfish. The word echoed in the quiet room. I was being selfish for wanting a moment of peace while my body felt like it was being torn apart, while I was growing our child?
“I’m not exaggerating, Alex,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “My back is killing me, I feel nauseous, and I am bone-tired.”
“And you can rest later!” he insisted, his voice rising with irritation. “They’re my family, Kate! I can’t offend them. What will they think?”
I fell silent. It was useless to argue. Alex had a blind spot the size of a planet when it came to his family.
Eventually, I dragged my protesting body out of bed. When the doorbell rang that evening, I was still trying to do my hair. I’d given up on cooking and ordered decent catering, the only concession I could afford myself.
His mother, Eleanor, a woman who always looked impeccably put-together, swept into the apartment, her critical eyes already scanning for flaws.
“Well, hello, Katherine,” she said, her voice laced with thinly veiled pity. “You’re looking a bit pale. Pregnancy doesn’t seem to suit you at all.”
Alex’s sister, Sarah, walked in behind her, carrying an expensive handbag that felt like an insult next to my worn maternity dress. “She just looks tired, Mother. We all know how much women exaggerate their discomfort.”
I forced a weak smile. “The food is ready,” I managed, gesturing toward the dining table.
Eleanor sniffed dramatically, picking at the beautifully arranged salad. “The table looks very modest,” she added, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Surely you had the strength to cook something proper? These containers are quite tacky. In my day, women in your condition managed a full-time job and all the housework.”
I felt a lump of humiliation form in my throat. The food I'd ordered suddenly tasted like ash. I looked at Alex, my eyes pleading with him to defend me—to simply say, She is carrying our child, please be kind. He just wrung his hands, a guilty expression on his face. “Mom, let’s not start,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on his plate.
“Pregnant, not diseased,” his mother sniffed, pushing her half-eaten food away.
Tears pricked my eyes. I felt utterly alone and helpless. I sank onto the sofa, the strength draining from my body. The room began to feel stuffy, the voices of Alex’s family a dull, buzzing drone. Eleanor and Sarah continued their critique, moving from the food to my choice of curtains.
I had to escape. I needed air.
I tried to stand up, to go to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and that’s when the world began to tilt.
A wave of weakness, sudden and overwhelming, washed over me. My vision started to swim with black spots. The distant, mocking laughter of Sarah seemed to grow impossibly loud. I reached for the edge of the table to steady myself, but my hands felt like they were made of cotton. My last thought before the darkness consumed me was, Alex, where are you?
The smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a machine were the first things I registered. I blinked, my eyes struggling against the harsh fluorescent light. I was in a hospital bed.
“Kate? Oh, God, Kate!”
Alex was beside me, his face pale and tear-stained, clutching my hand so tightly it hurt.
“W-what happened?” my voice was a dry, weak whisper.
“You collapsed,” he choked out, leaning his head against the sheet. “You just... fell. I was terrified. We thought—we thought we lost you both.”
A nurse entered, her expression professional and kind. “You gave us quite a scare, dear. You were severely dehydrated and had critically low blood pressure. Complete exhaustion. Your body just reached its absolute limit. You need bed rest. Strict bed rest.”
She left the room, leaving a charged silence behind.
I looked at Alex, the love I held for him warring with a crushing disappointment. “Your mother,” I managed. “And Sarah. Where are they?”
Alex averted his gaze, shame radiating off him in waves. “They left. As soon as the ambulance came. Mom said it was ‘all a bit dramatic’ and that she wasn't needed here.”
I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path down my temple. The word he had used earlier came rushing back, sharp as a dagger. Selfish.
“You called me selfish, Alex,” I said, my voice gaining a desperate clarity. “I was begging you. I was sick, and I was exhausted, and you forced me to host them. And when they insulted me, when they watched me crumble, you did nothing because you were afraid of them. You chose their comfort over my life, and over the life of your son.”
He started to sob. “I know, Kate. I was a coward. A complete idiot. I saw the doctor’s face. I almost lost you. I’m so sorry. I’ll never—I’m done with them. I told them so. I told them they weren’t welcome until they respected you.”
I looked at his broken face, at the man who had failed me so spectacularly, and yet was now offering a desperate plea for redemption. I couldn't find the energy to forgive him yet, only to state my truth.
“No, Alex,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “You weren’t an idiot. You were a man who prioritized his fear over his wife’s well-being. And now, I need you to prove you understand the difference. I need you to be my shield, not their silent accomplice. Right now, I need to focus on getting our son here safely. And I need space.”
I squeezed his hand, a gesture of shared survival, not reconciliation. “Go home, Alex. Sleep. Come back tomorrow. I need to rest. For the baby.”
As he quietly left, I turned my attention to the soft curve of my stomach. The fight was far from over, but in this quiet, sterile room, I realized something important. My family wasn't the one who had abandoned me; it was the one I had to save.
It was the little one growing inside me, and finally, myself. I was done being quiet. I was done being selfishly strong for everyone but me.