Pregnancy is meant to be a time of joy and anticipation, but for me, it became a painful, isolating nightmare. From the moment I told Alex I was expecting, everything began to change. The warmth I once felt from him vanished, replaced by a chilling coldness and cruel remarks.
I’ll never forget one night in particular. I was exhausted and struggling with the usual aches and nausea, barely holding on. Alex came home late, his cologne overpowering the air around us. Instead of a reassuring smile, he shot me a cold, dismissive look.
“You’re just getting bigger and lazier,” he mocked.
My heart shattered, but I pushed the pain aside and tried to stay strong. “Carrying a baby isn’t easy, Alex,” I muttered quietly.
He let out a harsh laugh. “Maybe if you took better care of yourself, you wouldn’t feel so miserable.”
Then, just weeks later, eight months pregnant, I came home to a sight that left me speechless. Alex walked through the door with a young, blonde woman draped over his arm. His smug grin said everything I needed to know. The reality hit me like a ton of bricks.