I literally begged my husband on my knees to take me to the ER because I was in labor, but he snapped that I was just being dramatic and walked out to celebrate his mother's birthday.

David woke up at his mother's sprawling estate at noon on Sunday. His head was pounding from the expensive scotch he had consumed the night before.

He rolled over in the silk sheets of his childhood bedroom, finally checking his phone.

14 Missed Calls from Sarah. 32 Missed Calls from City General Hospital.

David rubbed his eyes, letting out a heavy groan of annoyance. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. "She really committed to the bit."

He assumed she had gone to the hospital, had the baby, and was now weaponizing the nurses to make him feel guilty. He texted her quickly: Going home to shower. Will come to the hospital after. Stop being dramatic.

He showered, dressed in a crisp polo shirt and designer jeans, and walked downstairs. His mother was sipping coffee in the sunroom.

"Leaving already, darling?" Eleanor asked.

"Yeah, I have to go deal with Sarah," David sighed, grabbing an apple from a crystal bowl. "She's probably going to give me the silent treatment for a week. I need to go home, grab some fresh clothes, and mentally prepare for the guilt trip."

"Don't let her manipulate you, David," Eleanor warned. "You are the provider. She needs to respect your time."

"I know, Mom," David kissed her cheek.

He hopped into his imported sports car and keyed the ignition, entirely oblivious to the fact that the life he knew had already ended. He drove toward our quiet, upscale suburban neighborhood, rehearsing his gaslighting speech in the mirror. He was going to turn it around on me. Make it my fault for ruining the party.