Six weeks before our daughter was supposed to be born, my husband emptied our savings account.
Then he packed two suitcases.48
I stood in the kitchen watching Eric move between the bedroom and front door, trying to understand how fifteen minutes could dismantle an entire marriage.
“Where are you going?”
He zipped his second suitcase.
“I can’t do this anymore, Claire.”
“Do what?”
“This.”
He gestured vaguely around the house.
“The marriage. The pregnancy. All of it.”
One hand moved instinctively beneath my stomach.
I was thirty-four weeks pregnant.
My back hurt constantly, my ankles were swollen, and my doctor had already warned me that my blood pressure was becoming a concern.
