I never thought one ordinary day would make me question my entire marriage and everything I believed about the man I married. But the moment I needed my husband most, I saw exactly who he really was.
I was six months pregnant when my marriage finally showed me what it really was.
It started with fries.
That fateful day, Albert, my husband, had decided he wanted homemade fries with his steak. But he left the stove splattered and somehow managed to drip grease all across the kitchen floor without noticing or caring.
My marriage finally showed me what it really was.
I saw the mess while carrying laundry down the hallway.
“Albert, can you clean this up before someone slips?” I asked.
He barely looked away from his phone. “I’ll get to it.”
He never did.
About an hour later, I walked back into the kitchen to grab some water. The second my foot touched the slick spot near the counter, everything went out from under me.
I went down hard.
“I’ll get to it.”
Pain exploded through my leg so fast it knocked the air out of me. I screamed as my leg twisted awkwardly when I hit the floor. The first thing I did was grab my stomach.
The baby.
“Oh my God…” I gasped.
I called out for Albert.
My husband wandered in, looking more annoyed than concerned. His eyes dropped to me on the floor.
“Seriously?” he muttered. “What did you do now?”
“I slipped,” I cried, still holding my stomach and terrified for the baby. “I think my leg’s broken.”
Albert rubbed his forehead as if I’d interrupted something important.
“Oh my God…”
***
The ambulance ride to the hospital felt endless. Every bump in the road sent pain through my leg and panic through my chest. I kept asking if the baby was okay. Nobody would tell me anything until the scans were done.
