My Husband Left Dur:ing Labor for His Mom’s Birthday—3 Days Later, He Went Pale When He Saw Who Held Our Son

The nurse reached me.

“Ma’am, can you sit?”

I handed her my bag.

Adrian was still talking.

“Just don’t turn this into another argument about my mother.”

Something inside me went completely quiet.

For eight years, I had tried to keep peace between Adrian and Margaret.

I had told myself that families came with difficult personalities.

That Adrian’s habit of calling Margaret before making decisions was merely closeness.

That her insults were generational.

That her constant questions about our mortgage, my salary and our savings were simply nosiness.

I had excused a thousand small things.

I stopped at one.

“All right,” I said.

Adrian hesitated.

“What?”

“Enjoy the cake.”

I ended the call.

The nurse looked at me carefully.

“Is someone coming?”

I looked at my phone.

There was one number I had refused to call for almost two years.

My father.

I pressed it.

Gideon Vale answered before the second ring finished.