My Husband Claimed My Miscarriage ‘Ruined His Birthday’ – He Didn’t Realize How Soon He’d Regret It

A long, painful pause where I could hear him talking to someone else, his hand probably covering the phone.

Then he came back. “Okay, okay. I’m leaving right now.

I’ll be there soon.”

I believed him. God help me, I actually believed him.

Ten minutes passed. Then 20.

The cramping intensified into waves of pain that made me cry out even though no one was there to hear.

I called him again, my voice shaking so hard I barely sounded like myself.

“Where are you? Matt, please, I’m really scared.”

“I’m stuck in traffic,” he said smoothly. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes, I promise.”

Traffic.

He blamed traffic.

At that point, I didn’t have the luxury of waiting anymore. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, black spots dancing across my sight. My legs were trembling so badly I could barely stand.

But I had to do something. I couldn’t just lie there and wait for help on our bedroom floor.

So, I did everything alone.

I cleaned myself up as best I could with shaking hands. I somehow managed to pull on clean clothes even though every movement sent fresh waves of pain through my body.

Then I crawled, actually crawled on my hands and knees, down the stairs to the living room.

I wanted to cry and scream, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy for either. I had to stay conscious. I had to survive this, even if I had to do it completely alone.

The house felt like a battlefield that I was losing.

Just hours ago, I’d been imagining our baby’s first kicks, the way my belly would swell with life and hope.

Now I was watching that hope fading in front of my own eyes, and the one person who was supposed to protect me was nowhere to be found.

I crawled to the living room and collapsed against the wall, my hands pressed desperately against my abdomen as if I could somehow hold everything together through sheer willpower. The pain was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It wasn’t just physical.

It was the sensation of losing something precious, feeling it slip away while you’re powerless to stop it.

I called him again, my voice barely above a whisper. “Matt, I can’t do this. I can’t do this alone.

Please just get here. Please, Matt!”

“I’m gonna be there any minute now,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone. “Just hang tight.”

Any minute?

Any minute had been 45 minutes ago when he’d first promised he was leaving.

I pressed my forehead against my knees and focused on breathing.

In and out. I told myself. Stay conscious.

Don’t pass out. Keep breathing.

It took him over an hour to finally walk through that door. A full hour where I fought to stay upright, where I sobbed as quietly as I could because I didn’t want our neighbors to hear and ask questions I couldn’t answer.Continue reading…

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