While I Was in Labor, My Husband Introduced Me to the Woman Who Had Given Him a Son—Then Told Me Our Newborn Daughter Would Never Carry His Family Name
By the time the nurse told me I was fully dilated, I had been in labor for nearly fourteen hours.
My entire body felt like it had been pulled apart from the inside.
Every few minutes, another contraction rolled through me so violently that I had to grip the rails of the hospital bed just to keep from screaming.
The delivery suite at St. Vincent Women’s Center in Boston was dim except for the glow of the monitors beside me.
My obstetrician, Dr. Patel, was checking the fetal heart rate.
A nurse named Kimberly kept wiping my forehead with a cold cloth.
And through all of it, I kept looking at the empty chair beside my bed.
My husband was supposed to be sitting there.
Nathan Caldwell had promised he would be.
He had sent me a text three hours earlier.
Board emergency. Leaving now. I’ll be there before she comes.
I believed him.
That was still one of my worst habits back then.
Believing Nathan.
Another contraction hit.
I cried out and squeezed Kimberly’s hand.
“You’re doing great, Audrey,” she whispered. “Baby’s almost here.”
Then voices erupted in the hallway.
Not excited voices.
Angry ones.
A nurse said, “Sir, you cannot bring another visitor in right now.”
A man answered.
“I’m her husband.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
Nathan.
