“Greg, what are you doing?” I cried out, another contraction seizing my body.

He pulled out my hospital bag, the one I had so carefully packed weeks ago, and threw it onto the snowy ground.

“Get out,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “I’m not taking you anywhere. You’ve already made me late for my mother’s party. You can figure this out yourself.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was a nightmare. He was really going to leave me here. Alone. In labor. On the side of a snowy, deserted road in the middle of winter.

“Greg, you can’t,” I sobbed. “Please, this is our child!”