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THE 2 A.M. PHONE CALL

I gave birth to my first child on an autumn morning, when the sunlight was still gentle and the sky unusually clear. The doctor said I was lucky. The delivery went smoothly, my baby was healthy, his cry loud and strong. His tiny hands grasped the air as if declaring his existence to the world.

My son was named Lucas.

I once believed that this moment would be the happiest of my life.

But it was also from this very moment that I began to see clearly… the true face of the man I had called my husband for six years.

My husband’s name is David Miller.

We got married after four years of dating. To outsiders, David looked like the perfect husband: well-educated, a stable job at a financial company in Chicago, calm in his speech, polite in his manners. When we were in love, he often said that family meant everything to him, that he longed for children and a real home.

I believed him.

I bet my youth, my career, and my entire future on that belief.

On the day I was admitted to the hospital to give birth, both families were present. My mother flew in from California, and my mother-in-law arrived early that morning. The maternity ward was full of husbands staying by their wives’ sides—some sleeping on the floor, some staying awake all night just to watch over their wives’ pain.

I lay on the hospital bed, drenched in sweat, gripping the sheets tightly, the pain so intense I could barely cry.

In that moment, I searched for David with my eyes.

He stood at the foot of the bed, looking tense, but he didn’t hold my hand or say anything. When I was wheeled into the delivery room, he only managed to say softly:

“Hang in there.”

I thought he was simply too overwhelmed to speak.

After giving birth, I was completely exhausted. My body ached as if it had been torn apart and stitched back together clumsily. Lucas was placed in a bassinet beside me, sleeping peacefully. I looked at him, tears streaming down my face—happy, yet unbearably lonely.

I waited for David to come sit beside me.

But he didn’t.

That evening, while my mother and mother-in-law took turns caring for the baby, David stood up, checked his watch, and said:

“I’m going home to sleep for a bit. I have to work early tomorrow.”

I froze.

“You’re going home?” I asked weakly.

“Yes. There are enough people here already. And I really can’t sleep in hospitals—it’s uncomfortable.”

I tried to sit up, the pain shooting through my body.

“I just gave birth… I want you to stay.”

David sighed.

“Both our moms are here. I wouldn’t be much help anyway. My company has an urgent issue—I need to work through the night.”

I looked at him, desperately searching his face for hesitation, for guilt.

There was none.

Only fatigue and impatience.

In the end, he put on his coat, grabbed his keys, and walked away.

I lay there, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway, my heart hollow and aching.

That first night after giving birth, I barely slept.

Lucas cried, my incision throbbed, and my spirit was utterly drained. My mother held my baby, gently rocking him under the dim yellow light, while I turned my face to the wall, tears soaking my pillow.

That was when I realized:
Only when a woman gives birth does she truly see how cold her husband can be.

At nearly 2 a.m., when the room had finally fallen silent, my phone vibrated.

The name on the screen was Anna—my neighbor.

Anna and I were close. She was a few years older, lived alone after a divorce, and was straightforward but caring.

I answered, my voice hoarse.

“Hello… Anna?”

“Emily, how are you and the baby?” she asked softly.

“The baby’s fine… I’m okay,” I replied absently.

Anna was silent for a few seconds, then said carefully:

“I don’t know if I should tell you this… but I think you need to know.”

My heart started pounding.

“What is it?”

Anna took a deep breath.

“About an hour ago, I saw David… bringing a strange woman into your house.”

My entire body went cold.

“What… what did you say?”

“I’m sure. I was taking out the trash when I saw his car pull up. He opened the door for a woman and they went inside together.”

I gripped my phone tightly, my ears ringing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She was dragging a suitcase.”

I barely heard anything else Anna said after that. My mind was burning with a single thought:

David lied.

I called him.

Once.
Twice.
Three times.

No answer.

I kept calling until the phone went to voicemail.

That entire night, I stared at the white hospital ceiling, listening to my own racing heartbeat, my mind replaying the worst possible scenarios.

David didn’t come to see us until noon the next day.

He brought a small bouquet of flowers and a bag of food, looking calm—as if nothing had happened.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, placing the flowers on the table.

I looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar sense of distance.

“Where were you last night?” I asked directly.

He paused for a brief second.

“At home. I was exhausted and fell asleep.”

I gave a bitter smile.

“Then who was the woman you brought home?”

His face turned pale.

“What are you talking about? There was no one.”

I stared straight into his eyes.

“Someone saw you. There are photos.”

Panic flashed across his face.

“Don’t make things up. Are you trying to ruin me?”

I gathered all my strength and said slowly:

“If you don’t tell the truth, I’ll post everything online. Your choice.”

The hospital room became suffocatingly quiet.

Finally, David lowered his head.

He confessed.

The woman’s name was Laura—a close friend from his college days. Recently, she had been cheated on by her boyfriend and was emotionally unstable. She came to David to vent. At first, they just talked. Then coffee dates. Then late-night messages.

On the night I gave birth, Laura called him in a panic, saying she had just been confronted by another woman, was terrified, and had nowhere to go.

David “felt sorry for her,” so he brought her back to our house to stay temporarily.

“I swear I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his voice trembling.

I listened without crying, without yelling.

I only felt something inside me completely die.

My husband left his wife who had just given birth alone in the hospital… to bring another woman home.

No matter how much he swore, I couldn’t believe there was nothing inappropriate between them.

I looked at Lucas sleeping peacefully in his bassinet, my heart breaking.

My son had just been born… and already faced the possibility of growing up without a complete family.

What should I do now?