Thirty-four weeks pregnant and fast asleep, I was jolted awake by my husband’s urgent cries in the dead of night. His reason shattered my world, and by morning, I had no choice but to file for divorce.

As I await the arrival of my baby, my heart is heavy with sorrow. My due date is just two weeks away, and I’m torn between welcoming my little bundle of joy into the world and divorcing my husband. My name is Mary, and this is the story of how one fateful night changed everything…

It’s been five years since Daniel and I met, and our marriage has been perfect… or so I thought.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mary,” my husband would say whenever I worried about fire. “There’s a smoke alarm, what’s the worst that could happen?”

But I couldn’t shake off the fear.

“My Mom’s house burned down when I was 17. We lost our pet dog, Grampa. The smell of smoke still haunts me, Dan,” I once told Daniel, but he just patted my hand and said not to worry.

I remembered that fateful night—the smell of smoke, the sound of sirens, and the feeling of panic as Dad, Mom, and I crawled out from under the smoke.

Our neighbors and the rescue team saved us, but we lost everything. The trauma still lingers, and Daniel’s constant reassurances did nothing to calm my fears.

Lately, I’d been double-checking everything before bed. I make sure the electrical outlets are off, the stove is unplugged, and there are no lit candles.

Daniel would get annoyed, but I couldn’t help it. My heart and mind wouldn’t listen. I had to be sure we were safe… that our baby was safe.

“We’re not going to have a house fire, Mary. You’re just being paranoid,” Daniel would say. But I knew what I felt.

Two nights ago, he came home from work with his friends. They lounged in the living room, creating quite a disturbance.

I pulled him aside and asked him to send them away, explaining that I needed some peace and quiet. Daniel insisted they were just having “harmless fun” and that he wanted to enjoy time with his friends before the baby arrived.

I didn’t argue any further and just grabbed my pregnancy pillow before storming upstairs to our bedroom.

I drifted off to sleep as the noise from downstairs slowly faded. Suddenly, I heard Daniel’s booming voice: “Mary, honey, get up! Get up! Fire, fire, fire! Get up!”

My heart skipped a beat as adrenaline coursed through my body.

I grabbed my pillow and blanket, instinctively covering my belly as if to protect it. I opened the door and rushed downstairs, yelling for Daniel to open the door and call the fire department.

When I reached the living room, Daniel’s friends burst out laughing. Daniel walked over to them, cackling like a hyena. I was confused and disoriented.

“What’s going on?” I asked, still trying to process the situation.

Daniel continued to laugh, explaining that his friends wanted to have some “fun” and play a prank on me. They had told him to yell “Fire! Fire!” to scare me.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Anger and fear surged to the surface. I stopped Daniel in his tracks and confronted him.

“How could you do this to me? How could you play with my fear like this?” I yelled, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Daniel’s laughter faded, and he began apologizing profusely. But it was too late. The damage was done. My heart was racing, and my mind was reeling.