PART TWO: BEFORE THE BABIES
Before I became pregnant, Ethan was the kind of husband people described as devoted.
He brought me coffee in bed on Saturday mornings. He sent flowers to my office for no reason. He held my hand while we walked through grocery stores and talked about our future as though it were an exciting project we were building together.
And he wanted children desperately.
Not one child.
A big family.
“We’ll make an amazing team,” he used to tell me.
Whenever I expressed concern about balancing work, childcare, and everything else, he acted almost offended.
“You think I’m going to leave you to do it alone?” he asked once. “I’m not one of those men.”
He promised to change diapers.
He promised to handle nighttime feedings.
He promised that if I pumped milk, he would take at least one shift every night so I could sleep.
“We’re equal partners,” he said. “Always.”
I believed him.
Why wouldn’t I?
We had been married for four years. Ethan had never given me a reason to think his promises were temporary.
When we learned I was pregnant, he cried harder than I did.
When the ultrasound technician told us there were three heartbeats, he laughed in disbelief, squeezed my hand, and said, “We wanted a big family. I guess we’re getting the express version.”
The pregnancy was difficult almost immediately.
I dealt with constant nausea, severe back pain, swelling, and months of medical appointments. Near the end, walking from our bedroom to the kitchen felt like climbing a mountain.
Ethan was attentive during that time.
He carried groceries. He attended appointments. He assembled three cribs and posted photographs online with captions about becoming a “girl dad and boy dad all at once.”
Everyone praised him.
My mother called him a treasure.
My friends said I was lucky.
I thought I was lucky too.
Then the babies arrived.
And the man I had married disappeared.
