During labor, my husband leaned toward me and asked me to keep my voice down because I was “making him anxious.”
Less than a week after we brought our newborn triplets home, he packed his bags and left for a two-week getaway with his friends, claiming the pressure of becoming a father was affecting his well-being.
But when Eric returned fourteen days later, rested, tanned, and expecting everything to be exactly as he had left it, he stepped into our living room and froze.
His suitcase dropped from his hand.
“This can’t be happening!”
Eric and I had been married for four years when we learned we were expecting triplets.
At first, nobody seemed happier than him.
During the ultrasound, he squeezed my hand while staring at the three tiny heartbeats on the monitor.
“Three babies,” he kept saying. “We're actually having three.”
For weeks afterward, Eric told practically everyone about becoming a father.
He imagined matching outfits.
Family vacations.
Birthday parties.
A noisy house filled with three little girls.
I believed his excitement was genuine.
But as my pregnancy progressed, Eric's attitude gradually changed.
The nursery furniture annoyed him.
Medical appointments became inconvenient.
Whenever someone mentioned feeding schedules, diapers, or sleepless nights, he complained that everyone was making parenthood sound miserable.
I told myself he was nervous.
Once our daughters arrived, I thought everything would change.
I was wrong.
