That night, I was folding baby clothes again, ones I had already folded a dozen times, just to keep my hands busy. I was sitting on the nursery floor, surrounded by soft pastels and plush toys, when my phone buzzed.
It was Michael.
“Hey, babe,” he said, way too cheerful for how late it was. “Don’t freak out, but the guys are coming over tonight. Big game. I didn’t want to go to a bar with all that smoke, so we’ll just watch it here.”
I blinked, glancing at the clock. It was almost 9 p.m.
“Michael,” I said, trying not to sound irritated, “you know I need to sleep early now. And what if something happens tonight? I might need to go to the hospital.”
He laughed, brushing me off as always.
“Relax, sweetheart. We’ll stay in the living room. You won’t even notice us. Come on, it’s just one night. When am I ever gonna hang out with the guys again once the baby’s here?”
Men toasting with their beer bottles during a game night at home | Source: Pexels
I hesitated. My instincts screamed no, but I was too drained to fight.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “Just… keep it down, okay?”
“Promise,” he said, already distracted. I heard voices and laughter in the background.
By the time they arrived, the apartment was buzzing with noise, with shouting from the TV, bottles clinking, and bursts of loud laughter. I retreated to our bedroom and shut the door, pulling the covers up over my legs. I placed one hand over my belly, feeling soft little kicks.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Mommy’s just tired.”
Eventually, exhaustion won. I must’ve dozed off despite the noise.
Then I felt it, a hand on my shoulder, nudging me.
“Hey. Wake up.”
It was Michael. His voice sounded strained and off.
I blinked up at him. The hallway light spilled into the room, casting long shadows. His face was tight, his eyes glassy.
Close-up shot of a man’s eye | Source: Pexels
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up. “Did something happen?”
He rubbed his hands together, looking restless. I noticed a slight tremble in his fingers. He paced near the foot of the bed, his jaw tightly clenched.
“No, it’s just… something the guys said tonight got me thinking.”
I frowned, confused and still half-asleep.
“Thinking about what?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just kept pacing, then stopped and looked at me intently, before dropping his gaze.
“About the baby.”
My heart skipped.
“What about the baby, Michael?”
He exhaled, like he’d rehearsed this in his head and still wasn’t sure how to say it out loud.
“I just… I want to make sure it’s mine.”
Silence.
I stared at him. The words made little sense at first.
“What did you just say?”
“Look, it’s not like that,” he said quickly. His voice pitched higher. “It’s just — someone brought up the timeline tonight, and it got me thinking. I don’t know, okay? Last year, you were really stressed, and I traveled a lot for work and…”
Close-up shot of a man carrying a bag while standing on a subway platform | Source: Pexels
“You think I cheated on you?”
“I just want peace of mind!” he snapped. “I want a DNA test before the birth.”
I felt tears building behind my eyes. I shook my head slowly.
“Michael, I’m 35 weeks pregnant. You’ve held this baby’s ultrasound in your hands. You helped pick out her name. We built her crib together.”
He crossed his arms, unmoved.
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