Six hours into labor, I was holding Dave’s hand as tightly as I could, trying to breathe through the waves of pain. Then his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and I caught the name — his mom.
He hesitated, stepped into the hallway, and when he came back, his face looked uneasy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked between contractions.
“I just need to go for a minute,” he said. “Mom needs help.”
I thought I misheard him. “Dave, I’m in labor. You can’t leave.”
“She just needs me to lift something heavy. I’ll be right back,” he said quickly. Before I could respond, he kissed my forehead and walked out.
Moments later, a text came through.
I’ll be back soon. Mom just needs help.
Is she okay? I asked.
She’s fine. Just groceries.
I stared at my phone, trying to make sense of it. The nurse saw my expression and gently asked, “Everything alright?”
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