Chapter 1 - The Parking Lot Where My Marriage Ended
The first time my husband abandoned me, I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant.
The second time, he knew I might be giving birth.
And when he finally called, hours after leaving me alone, I watched his name flash across my phone until the screen went dark.
My name is Rachel Monroe.
I was thirty-two years old, married for six years, and still foolish enough to believe that the man who had promised to love me would come running when our daughter needed him.
The first contraction hit at 9:42 p.m.
I was folding tiny pink pajamas in our laundry room when a deep, tightening ache wrapped around my lower back.
I stopped with one hand on the dryer.
"Oh."
The pain lasted perhaps forty seconds.
Then it disappeared.
I stood still, waiting for it to return.
Nothing.
I looked down at my enormous belly and smiled nervously.
"Not tonight, sweetheart. Your daddy hasn't finished putting your car seat in yet."
The car seat had been sitting in its cardboard box for three weeks.
Andrew had promised to install it every weekend.
There was always something more important.
His father's business.
His mother's appointments.
His sister's problems.
A football game.
A dinner I wasn't invited to.
But surely childbirth would be different.
By 10:10, my contractions were coming regularly.
I sat on the edge of our bed and called Andrew.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"What?"
Not hello.
Not how are you feeling?
Just what.
"Andy, I think I'm in labor."
I heard voices in the background.
His mother was laughing about something.
"Already?" he asked.
"Yes. They're getting stronger. I need you to come home."
He sighed.
That sound would stay with me longer than any of the pain.
"Rachel, it's probably false labor."
"It's not false labor."
"You're having our first baby. You don't know what real labor feels like."
I gripped the bedsheet as another contraction rolled through me.
"Andrew, please."
"Mom and Dad are leaving early for the cabin. I'm going with them."
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
"You're what?"
"The family trip, Rachel. We've been talking about it for months."
"Our daughter is coming!"
"She's not due for another two weeks."
"Babies don't check calendars!"
His voice hardened.
"Don't start."
I swallowed.
I hated that I was already crying.
"Andy, I'm scared."
He laughed.
It was a short, irritated laugh.
"You're being dramatic. The hospital's twenty minutes away. Just drive carefully."
"Please don't make me do this alone."
"Call me when they admit you."
The line disconnected.
I sat there holding the phone against my ear.
Then another contraction came.
I cried out so loudly that the sound startled me.
I had never felt so frightened inside my own home.
I called him again.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
I texted him.
Please come back. I really need you.
The message showed as delivered.
No response.
I wanted to call my older sister, Leah, but she lived forty minutes away.
I told myself Andrew was right about one thing.
The hospital wasn't far.
I could make it.
I grabbed my overnight bag, found my keys, and walked slowly toward the garage.
Our house was quiet.
The nursery door stood open.
Inside, the little white crib waited beneath a mobile of wooden stars.
I had painted those stars myself.
Andrew had said he'd help.
He never did.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the room.
"I've got you," I whispered to my belly.
"I promise."
Then I left.
The October night was colder than expected.
Rain glittered across the driveway as I climbed into our gray sedan.
My hands trembled so badly that I dropped the keys between the seats.
I retrieved them, started the engine, and backed out.
Three blocks.
That was how far I made it.
Three blocks before a contraction struck with such force that my vision blurred.
"Oh, God!"
I hit the brakes.
A horn blared behind me.
I managed to turn into the parking lot of a closed pharmacy.
The building was dark.
Its illuminated green sign flickered above the entrance.
I parked beneath a streetlight and leaned over the steering wheel.
The pain seemed to fill every inch of my body.
I tried breathing the way the instructor had taught us.
In.
Out.
Slowly.
But fear made everything harder.
My phone lay on the passenger seat.
I called Andrew again.
Nothing.
I called his mother.
Janice answered immediately.
"Rachel?"
"Janice, please. I'm in labor. Andrew won't answer."
There was a pause.
Then she said something I could hardly believe.
"Andrew told us you were making a fuss."
I stared at the windshield.
"What?"
"He said you're uncomfortable. First-time mothers tend to panic."
"I'm sitting in a parking lot!"
"Well, that's not a very sensible place to be, is it?"
Another contraction stole my breath.
I cried out.
Janice went silent.
Then I heard her cover the phone.
"Andrew, your wife's calling again."
His voice sounded distant.
"Tell her I'm driving."
I froze.
He was right there.
I had heard him.
"Andrew!" I screamed.
The connection ended.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My husband wasn't unavailable.
He was choosing not to answer.
Rain tapped against the windshield.
I looked at the hospital bag beside me.
The tiny going-home outfit was inside.
White cotton.
Pink flowers.
A little matching hat.
I had imagined Andrew carrying that bag into the hospital while holding my hand.
Instead, I was alone beneath a broken pharmacy sign.
I called 911.
"My name is Rachel Monroe," I whispered.
"I'm pregnant. I think my baby's coming. I can't drive."
The dispatcher asked for my location.
I gave her the pharmacy's address.
"Help is on the way, Rachel. Stay on the line with me."
I closed my eyes.
"Please hurry."
The dispatcher continued speaking calmly, telling me that paramedics were coming and helping me stay focused.
I pressed my hand against my belly.
"Stay with Mommy."
I don't know how long I waited.
I remember the rain.
I remember the streetlight.
I remember thinking about my mother, who had died two years earlier.
She would have come.
She would have driven through anything to reach me.
Then flashing red lights appeared in my rearview mirror.
An ambulance pulled into the parking lot.
A paramedic hurried toward my door.
I started crying harder.
He opened it and crouched beside me.
"Rachel? I'm Luis. We're going to take care of you."
I tried to answer.
Instead, I reached for his hand.
He held it.
And just as he helped me prepare to leave the car, my phone began ringing.
The screen lit up.
ANDREW MONROE.
My husband.
Finally.
I stared at his name.
Luis glanced at the phone.
"Do you need to answer that?"
I looked at the man who had come for me when my husband would not.
Then I looked at the phone.
"No."
May you like
The screen went dark.
And for the first time in six years, I didn't chase Andrew when he walked away.
