SC-At eight months pregnant, I begged my husband to pull over because the pain was so bad I could barely breathe. Instead, Eric dragged me from the car, called me a liar, and drove away with my purse and phone still inside. An hour later, doctors were trying to stop my baby from coming early. That evening he found my father had changed the locks—but the police officer outside my hospital room scared him more…

That was another thing I had become good at.

Apologizing before I had decided whether I had actually done anything wrong.

About fifteen minutes into the drive, a sharp pain twisted across the lower part of my stomach.

It was sudden enough that I grabbed the door handle.

“Eric.”

He glanced at me.
.

“What?”

“Can you pull over?”

“Why?”

Another pain rolled through me.

I breathed slowly through it.

“Something hurts.”

“You’re pregnant. Things hurt.”

“No, this is different.”

He kept driving.

I put one hand under my belly.

“Eric, please pull over.”

“You’re fine.”

The pain eased for maybe thirty seconds.

Then another one came.

Stronger.
.

I actually gasped.

“No. Something feels wrong.”

Eric slapped his palm against the steering wheel.

“For God’s sake.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Every time something matters to me, suddenly there’s a crisis.”

I genuinely didn’t understand what he meant.

“I’m having stomach pain.”

“I have a meeting in forty-five minutes, Claire.”

“I know.”

“And suddenly now you need the hospital.”

“I said I need you to pull over.”

His jaw tightened.

“You can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

That sentence stunned me enough that I forgot the pain for a second.

“I’m eight months pregnant.”

“Stop pretending.”

He turned sharply onto a quiet residential street.

For one second, I thought he had finally listened.

Then he slammed on the brakes.

“Get out.”