When Daniel, my husband, woke me up in the middle of the night yelling “Fire! Fire!” I’ll never forget it. With my heart pounding, I jumped out of bed and grabbed my pillow and blanket to keep my baby safe. When I got to the living room, though, Daniel’s friends were laughing and high-fiving each other. Daniel was right in the middle of a mean joke.
At 34 weeks, my fear of fire was still very fresh in my mind. Daniel knew about the scary time our house burned down when I was 17, but he never seemed to take my fears seriously. I became more worried every time he told me that nothing bad would happen.
Daniel’s joke that night was the last blow. I was hurt, scared, and by myself. When I told him what I thought, he just laughed and said sorry, but the damage was already done. I knew I had to take charge of my life and keep Daniel’s bad behaviour away from me and my baby.
I had to make the hard choice to file for divorce the next morning. I knew I had to make that choice, even though it wasn’t easy. Daniel’s deeds couldn’t decide how our relationship or my pregnancy would go. My child and I both deserved better.
