When Vera and I found out we were expecting, it felt like a long-held dream was finally within reach. After years of trying, hoping, and quietly grieving each month that passed without success, the news came like sunlight after a long winter. We were ready. We painted the nursery, read every parenting book we could get our hands on, and spent late nights imagining who our little one might become.
But just weeks before Vera’s due date, she surprised me with something I wasn’t prepared for—a confession that cut deeper than I expected.
“I don’t want you in the delivery room,” she said quietly, avoiding my eyes.
At first, I thought I’d misheard. It hurt, more than I wanted to admit. We’d been partners through everything. Why would she want to face this moment alone?