Valentine's Betrayal

After I got pregnant, my husband started driving for Uber after work to help with household expenses. He wouldn't return home until the early hours of the morning.

Then, on Valentine's Day, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my belly. I called an ambulance to take me to the hospital.

When I arrived, I saw my husband entangled with another woman. Both of them were being wheeled into the emergency room.

"Tsk, these two really have no shame, going at it right out in public," someone muttered.

"They probably wrecked the car in the process, don't you think?" another chimed in.

"What's even worse," a voice added with a hint of horror, "is that guy has a wife!"

The bystanders gasped in unison. "His wife must be devastated."

Whether his wife is devastated or not, I don't know.

But one thing is certain—he'll be going straight to hell for this!

Today was Valentine's Day, and I wanted my husband to take a day off.

"Stay home with me," I said.

"Valentine's Day is the best time to make money," he replied, turning away. As he stepped out the door, he casually reminded me, "Call me if anything happens."

I had planned to wait for him to come back, but at some point, I drifted off to sleep. When I woke, it wasn't to the sound of him returning—it was the pain that pulled me out of my daze. Cold sweat soaked my face as I gasped for air.

"Honey…" My voice trembled. "My stomach hurts. Can you turn on the light?"

No answer came. It hit me then—he was still out driving for Uber.

The pain grew sharper, and I couldn't bring myself to dwell on why he was still out so late. I fumbled for my phone, relying on instinct to dial for an ambulance. Then I lay flat on the bed, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to dull the agony in any way I could.

But the more it hurt, the sadder I felt. Other women had husbands who stayed by their side during pregnancy, attentive and caring. Yet here I was, pregnant, barely seeing mine.

He was too proud to accept help, even from my parents, who had raised me and would've gladly supported us. I couldn't change his mind, so I let him run himself ragged every day.

But as I lay there, clutching my stomach, I silently vowed that I wouldn't let him take these night shifts anymore. He needed to be with me at night—no exceptions.

Thankfully, our home wasn't far from the hospital, and the ambulance arrived quickly. I wanted to get up to meet them, but the pain pinned me down. The nurses had to lift me onto the stretcher and rush me toward the hospital.

Even in the middle of the night, the maternity ward was busy. Every expectant mother I saw had someone by her side—at least one person, if not an entire family, hovering over her with care.