“You think I wanted to be in this situation? You think I wanted to be here without you?” I was screaming now, the fear mixing with fury. “I should have had your support! But where were you?”
His face fell, anger replaced by a grimace filled with something unrecognizable. “Maybe we shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place,” he muttered, barely audible. “Maybe we weren’t ready.”
Stunned, I felt every word like a bullet. “Is that how you really feel? You’re blaming me for everything? For something we brought into this world together?”
“I don’t know, Rebecca! I don’t know if I’m cut out for this!” His voice cracked, exposing an unexpected vulnerability. “I’ve had doubts about us for a while now.”
His admission hit me harder than the news about our son. Doubts? What did that even mean? “So you’re telling me you want to leave?” My breath caught in my throat as I processed his words.
Section 6
The sterile smell of the hospital filled my nostrils, mixing with the bitterness of betrayal. As Ethan stood there, his words hanging like a noose between us, something in me snapped. I needed to escape, to clear my head.
When I stumbled back to my room later, I noticed a small envelope peeking out from under the uncomfortable hospital bed. Curiosity and dread intertwined as I picked it up, flipping it over to see Ethan’s handwriting.
“Dear Rebecca…”
My heart raced as I unfolded the paper, the words spiraling into clarity, cutting deeper than any blade. “I don’t think I can be the husband or father you want me to be.” The sentence punched me in the gut.
Each line felt like a new wound, describing how he had been feeling trapped, how the thought of being a father loomed over him like a shadow. “I wish I could say I wanted this. I don’t,” it read with cold finality. “I’ve considered leaving. I hope you can understand.”
My vision blurred with tears. The weight of his words sank in, suffocating me. Ethan had never wanted this life. He had been planning his escape long before I even knew I was pregnant.
