My husband woke me in the middle of the night during my pregnancy. His reason shattered my world, and by morning, I had no choice but to file for divorce.

As I await the arrival of my baby, my heart is heavy with sorrow. My due date is just two weeks away, and I’m torn between welcoming my little bundle of joy into the world and divorcing my husband. My name is Mary, and this is the story of how one fateful night changed everything.

It’s been five years since Daniel and I met, and our marriage had felt steady and safe… or so I believed.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mary,” Daniel would say whenever I worried about fire. “There’s a smoke alarm—what’s the worst that could happen?”

But I couldn’t shake off the fear.

“My mom’s house burned down when I was seventeen. We lost our dog, Grampa. The smell of smoke still haunts me, Dan,” I had once confessed. He only patted my hand, brushing it aside as if it were a passing whim.

That night still lives in me—the shrill wail of sirens, the blinding haze of smoke, and the terror as my family crawled out through the suffocating dark. We survived, but we lost everything, and some scars never fade.

Maybe that’s why, over the years, I became obsessive about safety. Before bed, I unplugged every appliance, double-checked the stove, ensured no candles were burning. Daniel would roll his eyes, but I couldn’t stop. This wasn’t paranoia; this was my way of protecting the family I’d fought so hard to build.

Two nights ago, Daniel came home from work with a pack of friends. Their laughter and clinking beer bottles echoed through the living room as I waddled downstairs to ask him to send them home. He brushed me off with a grin.
“They’re just having harmless fun. Let me enjoy this before the baby gets here.”

I didn’t want to fight. I grabbed my pregnancy pillow and trudged upstairs, hoping sleep would drown out the noise. Eventually, it did.

Until his voice ripped through my dreams.

“Mary! Honey, get up! Fire! Fire! Get up!”

Panic snapped me awake. Heart racing, I threw aside my blanket and bolted for the door, hands instinctively shielding my belly. Smoke? Flames? Were we too late?

I tore down the stairs, screaming at Daniel to call the fire department. But when I reached the living room, I froze.

His friends were doubled over with laughter. Daniel was among them, clutching his stomach, tears of amusement in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I stammered, my chest heaving.

“It’s just a joke!” he gasped between laughs. “They thought it’d be funny to see how fast you’d move!”

I stood there, trembling. My knees weakened as if the floor had disappeared.
“A joke?” My voice cracked. “You know what I’ve been through! How could you—how could you do this to me?”

Daniel’s laughter faltered. “Mary, I didn’t think— I’m sorry—”

But the words didn’t matter. The damage was done. I turned and fled upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind me as sobs wracked my body. I pressed my hands over my face, trying to breathe, trying to think. The walls seemed to close in.

How could the man I loved take my deepest trauma and turn it into entertainment? I thought of our baby. If Daniel could treat me like this now, what kind of father would he be?

I reached for my phone, dialing the one person who always understood.

“Dad?” My voice shook.

“Hey, kiddo,” came his steady reply. “What’s wrong?”

The dam broke. I poured out every detail—the prank, the panic, the cruel laughter. When I finished, there was silence on the line.

“Mary,” he said finally, his tone steady and protective, “I’m coming to get you.”

Ten minutes later, I heard his car. He stepped inside, eyes sharp as steel.
“Mary, come on. Let’s go.”

I packed my things quietly, ignoring Daniel’s mumbled excuses. His friends had vanished, leaving him alone on the couch, shame flickering across his face.

As we left, Dad’s gaze locked on him. “You’re lucky I don’t teach you a lesson right here,” he growled.

The drive was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the rain tapping softly against the windows. Finally, Dad broke the silence.
“That boy doesn’t respect you. You deserve better.”

Tears slid down my cheeks. “I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

“You do now,” Dad said. “Don’t let him steal your peace.”

By morning, after a sleepless night, I felt clarity bloom inside me. Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. It’s not supposed to play with your fears, to belittle your pain.

I called my lawyer and filed for divorce.

Mom called later, saying I was overreacting. That Daniel didn’t mean harm. But I know what harm feels like, and I know what it means to protect my child. Forgiving and forgetting won’t rebuild trust that’s been burned to ash.

It’s been two days since I left. Daniel keeps calling, texting, begging for another chance. But every time I picture that night, I feel the panic return. My baby deserves a mother who stands strong, not one who lives in fear.

And so I wait, two weeks away from new life, knowing I’ve chosen safety, dignity, and hope over a marriage that no longer deserves me.

If you were in my shoes, what would you do?