I never thought I would have to write about this, but here I am, needing to vent and share a valuable lesson my husband learned the hard way.

At 32 years old, I was about to step into motherhood. My husband, Dave, who is 34, has always had a complicated relationship with his mother, Marlene. She would constantly call him for every little thing, expecting him to drop everything and come running to her aid.

“Hey, Aria,” Dave used to say. “Mom needs me, I’ll be right back.”

He would dash out of the house, ready to save the day. I used to find it endearing until the day I went into labor.

I was at 38 weeks, and I knew that the time was coming. One evening, the contractions started. Everything was going smoothly until I was about six hours into the agonizing labor.

“Just breathe, darling,” Dave said, squeezing my hand. “Before you know it, our little girl will be here!”

But then, Dave’s phone rang, and he quickly stepped out into the hall to take the call. When he came back, he seemed a bit agitated. Just a few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a text message. He read it and looked concerned, his eyes darting all over the room as he was lost in his thoughts.

I asked him, already feeling anxious and vulnerable. He looked at me, almost annoyed that I had the audacity to ask him.

“I need to go, Aria. But it will be quick. I’ll be quick, promise,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. He was leaving me here during labor for his mother’s groceries? Was this really the man I married?

“I need you right here. I need you to be with me! Our baby is coming!” I gasped, wincing as another contraction hit me.

He sighed deeply. “I know. Of course, I know that,” he said, barely making eye contact. “But it’s my mom, and she said that she needs my help desperately.”

I couldn’t believe that he would actually do this. I felt abandoned in one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. Thankfully, my father came to the rescue and held my hand during the birth.

As I held my newborn daughter, Gabrielle, in my arms, the emotions overwhelmed me. Joy, love, and sadness intertwined. My dad sat beside me, his eyes filled with pride and concern.

“He’ll regret this, sweetheart,” my dad said softly. “But right now, you need to focus on your baby girl.”

Days later, my father invited our closest family to meet Gabrielle. I intentionally didn’t invite Dave, as I wasn’t ready to see him yet. But he showed up anyway, looking remorseful and desperate.

He apologized and begged for forgiveness, promising to be a better father and husband. While it’s been a long and challenging road, I eventually allowed him another chance.

Now, as we put our daughter to bed, Dave turns to me with sincerity in his eyes and says, “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m truly sorry. I never want to miss another moment.”

Though my husband has apologized profusely, I’m still waiting for my mother-in-law to apologize as well. What would you have done in this situation?