Chapter 7
Harper
The nursery was perfect.
I stood in the doorway, my hand resting on the curve of my belly where our daughter was running out of room to grow.
Everything was ready for her arrival. The crib Jack had assembled with such care, the changing table stocked with diapers and supplies, the rocking chair where I'd planned to nurse her while he read bedtime stories.
The mobile hung motionless above the crib, its soft animals waiting for tiny hands to reach for them. The bookshelf was filled with stories I'd collected over the months, classics and new favorites that I'd imagined Jack and I reading together as a family.
"Your room is ready, little one," I whispered to my belly. "Everything's here except your daddy."
She responded with a strong kick, as if she could sense my sadness. At thirty-eight weeks, she was fully formed, just gaining weight and strength before her arrival. The doctor had said she could come any day now, that I should be prepared.
I was prepared. The question was whether Jack would be.
My phone buzzed with a text from him: Madison had a rough night. Staying with her today. Love you.
I stared at the message, thinking about the photo that had appeared on my phone yesterday evening.
Someone had tagged me in a post from Madison's Instagram – a picture of her at what looked like an upscale restaurant, dressed in a stunning black dress, her hair and makeup perfect, laughing with a group of well-dressed people.
She looked radiant, healthy, nothing like the fragile woman Jack kept describing.
The timestamp showed it had been posted late the same night I'd been in the hospital, scared and alone, trying to reach my husband, who had his phone on silent because Madison "needed to rest."
I'd shown the photo to Jack when he'd finally come home last night, mentioning casually that someone had tagged me in a post from his ex-girlfriend's Instagram.
He'd barely glanced at it, muttering something about how social media didn't show the whole story, how Madison was probably just trying to keep up appearances.
He hadn't even reacted to me calling her his ex-girlfriend – something that now seemed significant in hindsight.
Madison had a rough night.
Looking at that photo, Madison looked like she was having the time of her life.
I texted back: Doctor appointment at 2. Final check before baby comes.
His reply came back almost instantly. Can you reschedule?
The casual dismissal hit me like a physical blow.
Just a few days ago, I spent several hours in the hospital, thinking our daughter might be coming early, unable to reach my husband.
Now, he was asking me to reschedule the most important prenatal appointment of my pregnancy because his ex-girlfriend needed him.
The anger, hot and sharp, finally boiled over.
Jack, two days ago, I was in the hospital with contractions for hours. You missed it because your phone was on silent for Madison. Now you want me to reschedule my final appointment before our baby is born so you can spend more time with her? No.
The dots indicating he was typing appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared. This time, his response was a torrent of panicked apology.
You're right. I'm so sorry. That was a completely asshole thing to ask. Of course, you can't reschedule. I'll be there. I promise. My head's all over the place.
A small measure of relief washed over me, quickly followed by suspicion. I'd heard these promises before. My phone buzzed with another message from Jack.
Harps, I'm sorry about the other night. I truly am. Madison's numbers were really bad this morning. The doctors are talking about a new treatment plan, and she's terrified. She doesn't have anyone else here.
The excuse was the same, but the apology felt different. Still, the fear and frustration were too close to the surface.
I'm scared about giving birth in two weeks without my husband.
You and the baby are my priority. I will be there for the birth, Harps. I swear to you. I'll be at the appointment today at 2.
His words were what I wanted to hear, but a part of me couldn't fully believe them. From where I was sitting, Madison's needs always seemed to come first.
She has cancer, Jack. I get it. But I'm having your baby. OUR baby. I need you here.
I know. I'll be there. I promise.
The conversation ended there. He had promised. But as the hours ticked by, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A promise was only as good as the man who made it, and lately, I didn't know that man at all.
In the end, I called Sam.
"Harper? Everything okay?"
"I need a ride to my doctor's appointment this afternoon. Jack's with Madison, and I..." I took a deep breath. "I can't keep doing this alone."
"Of course. What time?"
"Two o'clock. And Sam? The baby shower is tomorrow. Jack won't be there either."
There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, Harper."
"Me too."
The drive to Dr. Morris's office felt different this time.
Instead of excitement about seeing our daughter on the ultrasound or hearing her heartbeat, I felt a hollowness in my chest. This should have been a celebration, a final check before meeting our baby.
Instead, it felt like another milestone I'd have to navigate alone.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" Sam asked gently.
"The baby shower?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Honestly, I already know Jack won't be there. He'll have another Madison emergency, another crisis that only he can handle. I've accepted that this is my life now - me and baby girl."
"That's not fair to you."
"No, it's not. But apparently, fairness isn't a factor in marriage when your husband's ex-girlfriend has cancer.
" The words tasted bitter. "God, Sam, why can't he see it?
She always needs him when I do. Our anniversary, my appointments, every time we have something planned, she's suddenly ill and needs Jack.
I showed him that Instagram post of Madison out partying that night after she supposedly needed him so desperately that he couldn't answer his phone while I was in the hospital. .."
"What Instagram post?"
I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo. Sam's expression darkened as he studied it.
"This was taken the night you were in the hospital?"
"According to the timestamp, yes."
Sam was quiet for a long moment. "She doesn't look ill."
"I know. But every time I try to bring it up with Jack, he gets defensive. Says Madison is just trying to keep up appearances, that I don't understand how scared she is." I sighed. "Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe she is really sick and just having a good day in this photo."
"Or maybe Jack doesn't want to see what's really happening. He's always been too trusting, and Madison is a viper."
The possibility hung between us, unspoken but understood. Maybe Jack was being manipulated. Maybe Madison wasn't as sick as she claimed. Maybe my husband was choosing another woman over his pregnant wife based on lies.
But even if that were true, it didn't change the fact that Jack was making those choices. Madison might be manipulating the situation, but Jack was the one deciding to believe her, to prioritize her needs, to miss the most important moments of his wife's pregnancy.
Dr. Morris was her usual efficient self, but I could see concern in her eyes as she noted the numbers.
"Your blood pressure is elevated," she said, frowning at the reading. "Have you been under stress lately?"
"Jack has been helping his ex-girlfriend through cancer treatment. He's missed most of my appointments and wasn't available when I was in the hospital with contractions."
Dr. Morris set down her chart and looked at me directly. "Harper, stress at this stage of pregnancy can be dangerous. You're two weeks from your due date. You need support, not additional worry."
"I know. I'm trying to manage it."
"Where is Jack today?"
"With Madison. The ex-girlfriend." I couldn't hide the bitterness from my voice.
Dr. Morris was quiet for a moment, and I could see her choosing her words carefully.
"Harper, I understand that cancer is serious, but so is pregnancy.
So is labor and delivery. Your husband needs to understand that you're approaching one of the most significant medical events of your life, and you need his support. "
"I've tried to tell him that."
As she examined me, checking my cervix and discussing the signs of labor, I found myself taking mental notes not for Jack, but for Sam.
Sam, who would answer his phone. Sam, who would drop everything to drive me to the hospital.
Sam, who had become more of a partner to me in the later stages of this pregnancy than my actual husband.
"Any questions?" Dr. Morris asked.
"What if Jack isn't here when I go into labor?"
Her expression softened. "Then make sure you have someone who can be. Labor is intense, Harper. You need someone who can focus entirely on you and your needs."
The ride home was quiet, both Sam and I processing what we'd heard.
"Harper," Sam said finally, "I want you to know that if Jack isn't there when the baby comes... I'll be honored to help."
"Sam, you don't have to—"
"I want to. You shouldn't have to face labor alone."
The next morning brought my baby shower, held at The Copper Fox in the private dining room Sam had reserved for us weeks ago.
The space was beautiful, decorated with yellow and white balloons, fresh flowers, and elegant table settings.
My friends had outdone themselves, creating a celebration worthy of the daughter I was about to meet.
But the empty chair beside me felt like a spotlight on my situation. Although Sam quickly whisked it away.
"Where's Jack?" asked Jennifer, looking around the room expectantly.
"He couldn't leave Madison." The words came automatically now, rehearsed from weeks of similar explanations.
I watched the expressions on my friends' faces as they processed this information.
The careful expressions, the exchanged glances, the way they tried to hide their disapproval.
Jack running out of our anniversary dinner had been understandable.
Missing my hospital scare had been concerning.
Missing our baby shower felt like a step too far, a betrayal they couldn't overlook.
"Well," said Lisa finally, her voice bright with forced cheer, "we're here to celebrate you and this beautiful baby."
The gifts were generous and thoughtful. Clothes and blankets, books and toys, everything our daughter would need. Each present was opened with genuine gratitude from me and enthusiastic praise from my friends. But underneath the celebration, I could feel everyone's awareness of Jack's absence.
Sam had created something special for the occasion – a memory book where each guest could write advice, wishes, or memories for the baby. As I read through the pages, I was touched by the love and support of my community.
To the little one, always remember: Your mama is the strongest, kindest woman I've ever known. You are so lucky to have her, and we are all so lucky to have you. Can't wait for a lifetime of adventures. – Love, your Auntie Lisa
Welcome to the world, sweet girl. I hope you always know how loved you are, right from this very first moment. Your arrival is a gift to us all. – All my love, Aunt Rowena
Little one, you are being born into a whole town that is ready to love you. Welcome to the Willowbrook family! We can't wait to watch you grow. – Aunty Jennifer
Hey, kiddo. Get ready, because you and I are going to cause so much trouble together. Can't wait to teach you how to fish, how to skip rocks, and how to get away with stealing extra cookies from your mom. – Your partner in crime, Uncle Sam
There was a page for Mama's thoughts, which I'd been writing in throughout the day. But the page I'd hoped would be filled with Jack's words – his promises, his excitement, his love for our daughter – remained blank.
"This is beautiful," I said, holding up the book. "Thank you all so much."
"We wanted you to know that even if Jack can't be here, you're not alone," said Rowena. "This baby is going to be surrounded by people who love her."
The kindness overwhelmed me, and I felt tears start to fall. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to cry at my baby shower."
"You cry all you want," said Lisa, moving to hug me. "You're doing something incredible, and you deserve to feel supported every step of the way."
Sam appeared at my side with tissues and a gentle smile. "Hey, hormones are powerful things. Nothing wrong with a few tears at a celebration."
As my friends began to clean up and prepare to leave, each one hugged me tightly and made promises to check on me in the coming days. The love in that room was palpable, real, and sustaining.
But it wasn't Jack's love. It wasn't my husband choosing to be present for our daughter's celebration. Nope, he was hours away in the city with Madison.
"Thank you," I said to Sam as he helped me load the gifts into his truck. "For everything. The venue, the cake, the memory book... You made this special."
"You made it special just by being you." He paused, studying my face. "How are you really doing, Harper?"
I looked at the gifts filling the back of his truck, thought about the empty chair at my baby shower, the missed appointments, and the photo of Madison looking vibrant and healthy while Jack described her as dying.
"I'm figuring out that I married a man who makes promises he can't keep," I said finally. "And I'm trying to decide if I can live with that."
"And?"
"I don't think I can. Not for our daughter. She deserves a father who shows up."
Sam nodded, his expression serious. "She deserves that. And so do you."
That night, I sat in the nursery surrounded by the gifts from the shower, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and loneliness.
The room was ready, filled with everything our daughter would need.
But the one thing I'd wanted most – her father's presence, his excitement, his partnership – was nowhere to be found.
I placed my hand on my belly, feeling our daughter's strong movements. "I'm ready for you, little one," I whispered. "And even if daddy isn't here, you're going to be so loved."
The baby kicked in response, and I smiled despite everything. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new disappointments, and new tests of my ability to handle Jack's choices. But tonight, in this perfect nursery filled with love from my community, I felt strong enough to face whatever came next.
With or without Jack, I was ready to meet our daughter.