At 34 weeks pregnant, I was jolted awake by my husband’s urgent cries in the middle of the night. Fearing a fire, I rushed downstairs, only to find out it was a cruel prank. Daniel and his friends had convinced him to yell “Fire!” to scare me, knowing about my traumatic experience with a house fire when I was 17.

Despite my fears, Daniel had always brushed them off, calling me paranoid. But this prank crossed a line, especially since I was pregnant. I confronted him, tears streaming down my face, but his laughter only faded into empty apologies. The damage was done. I called my dad, who immediately came to support me. That night, I realized I couldn’t continue in a marriage where my fears were mocked and my feelings ignored. The next morning, I filed for divorce. Despite Daniel’s apologies, I knew I needed to protect myself and my baby from someone who didn’t understand or care about my emotional well-being.
Though my mom disagreed, telling me I was overreacting, I knew I had made the right decision. Two days later, Daniel continued to apologize, but it was too late. I had to prioritize my safety and my child’s future, knowing I couldn’t forgive him for this betrayal.