***
At the hospital, I breathed easier when they confirmed that our son was fine, but my leg wasn’t. The doctor confirmed a fracture near my ankle.
They wrapped my leg in a cast and told me I couldn’t put weight on it for weeks without help. Between the pregnancy and the injury, I’d definitely need assistance moving around.
I kept asking if the baby was okay.
Albert looked irritated throughout the discharge process, as if the injury had happened to him rather than to me.
***
By the time we got home, it was dark outside.
The front steps suddenly looked impossible. I stood there gripping the railing while balancing awkwardly on one leg, with the crutches digging into my arms.
“Albert,” I said quietly, “please help me upstairs.”
He stared at the steps, then frowned at me.
“I can’t risk throwing out my back.”
The front steps suddenly looked impossible.
At first, I thought my husband was joking.
“What?”
“My trip with the guys is tomorrow. If I hurt my back carrying you, the whole weekend’s ruined.”
I honestly couldn’t process what I was hearing.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. “I can’t even walk.”
“You should’ve been more careful,” he snapped. “I already paid for the trip. I’m not wasting it because you were careless!”
Then he walked inside, not to help me, but to pack.
I thought my husband was joking.
