Catherine closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the dull, persistent ache in her lower back. At eight months pregnant, every movement was a negotiation, every step an exercise in endurance. All she wanted was to lie down in a quiet room, to feel the weight lift from her swollen ankles, and maybe, if she was lucky, to have her husband, Mark, massage her tired feet. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips, but it was a dream that was about to be shattered.
Mark burst into the room, his face alight with an energy that felt like a personal affront to her exhaustion. “Darling, I have the most wonderful news!” he exclaimed, completely oblivious to the weary slump of her shoulders.
Catherine sighed internally. “What is it?” she asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.
“My parents and my sister are coming over for dinner tonight! They haven’t seen us in ages, and they’re so excited,” Mark announced, beaming like a child who’d just been given a new toy.
Catherine’s heart sank. “Oh, Mark… not tonight. You know how I’m feeling. Can’t we please reschedule? I’m just so, so tired.” Her voice was a soft plea, a hope for a sliver of understanding.
Mark’s cheerful expression immediately clouded over. “What are you talking about? We’ve already agreed, it’s all planned. We can’t just cancel on them. That would be incredibly disrespectful.”
“But Mark…” Catherine tried to protest, but he cut her off.
“Kate, don’t exaggerate. It’s just dinner. We’ll sit, we’ll chat for a bit, that’s all. You’re strong, you can handle it. You can’t be so selfish,” he said, and the word landed like a slap.
Selfish? Was she selfish for asking for a moment of peace at eight months pregnant? Did he not see how difficult it was for her to even walk across the room? Did he not understand that all she needed right now was support, not a guilt trip?
“I’m not exaggerating, Mark,” she tried to explain, her voice strained. “My back hurts constantly, I feel nauseous, and I’m exhausted all the time. I just want to rest.”
But it was as if he wasn’t listening. “Kate, you need to understand. They’re my family. I can’t just offend them. What would they think? They’ll say you don’t want to see them,” he insisted, a note of sharp irritation in his voice.
Catherine fell silent. Arguing was pointless. Mark was immovable, a product of a family where the opinions of the elders were law, and tradition trumped all else. She remembered his mother, Eleanor, a domineering and exacting woman who always dictated the terms, and Mark, the dutiful son, who always followed her commands.
“Fine,” Catherine said quietly, the word tasting like defeat. “I’ll make dinner.”
“That’s my girl! I knew you’d understand,” Mark rejoiced, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll help, of course. What do we need from the store?”
“Nothing. I’ll handle it myself,” Catherine replied, the bitterness in her voice a razor’s edge he failed to notice. She didn’t want his help. She wanted his empathy. She wanted him to offer to cancel this wretched dinner, but he hadn’t.
Oblivious to the storm brewing inside her, Mark began listing the dishes he wanted, a grand feast to impress his family. Catherine listened with half an ear, the resentment coiling in her gut. She felt less like a beloved wife and more like a servant, tasked with pleasing his relatives at the expense of her own health.
The doorbell rang just as Catherine was contemplating whether she had the strength to get off the sofa. It was her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a kind, warm woman in her sixties who had become a second mother to her.
“My dear, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Gable asked, her eyes full of genuine concern as she took in Catherine’s pale face.
“Oh, Mrs. Gable… not so great,” Catherine admitted, letting her in.
The moment she was seated, the dam of Catherine’s composure broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “There, there, my dear. Tell me everything,” Mrs. Gable said, wrapping a comforting arm around her.
Through sobs, Catherine explained the impending visit from Mark’s family and his refusal to postpone it. Mrs. Gable listened patiently, then sighed. “Ah, Kate. I know those family traditions. I went through the same thing myself. To them, pregnancy is just a minor inconvenience. They have no idea.”
“I feel so awful. I can’t keep trying to please everyone,” Catherine wept.
“I understand, dear. But you have to be strong. You have to learn to say ‘no.’ You need to make Mark understand that your health, and the baby’s health, is the most important thing right now,” Mrs. Gable advised.
“I tried. He won’t listen. He thinks I’m exaggerating.”
Mrs. Gable’s expression softened with sympathy. “Don’t you worry, dear. It will be alright. But please, don’t cook. Order something in. The most important thing is to take care of yourself.”
Catherine nodded, grateful. She decided to follow her neighbor’s advice. She wouldn’t waste her dwindling energy on a multi-course meal. But as she hung up the phone after placing a large order from a local restaurant, the bitterness returned. Mark’s selfishness was a heavy weight on her heart.
Even with the food taken care of, she felt she had to make something. She stood in the kitchen, her body protesting every movement, and began washing vegetables for a simple salad. Her legs felt like lead, her belly a tight, heavy ball. She leaned against the counter, closing her eyes, Mark’s words echoing in her mind. It’s just dinner. For him, maybe. For her, it was an ordeal.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven. Catherine’s heart began to pound with anxiety. Mark swung the door open, ushering in his parents, Eleanor and Richard, and his younger sister, Chloe. Eleanor, regal and imposing, swept into the room, her critical gaze taking in everything at once.
“Well, hello, Catherine,” she said, her tone more condescending than warm. “You’re looking a bit pale. Pregnancy doesn’t seem to agree with you.”
Catherine forced a tight smile. “Hello, Eleanor. Please, come in.”
The family settled in the living room, their eyes scanning the apartment. “So, where’s this feast you’ve prepared?” Chloe asked, peering into the kitchen. “I thought you’d be greeting us with a spread.”
“The table looks a bit… modest,” Eleanor added, her voice dripping with disapproval. “Surely you have the strength to cook something decent? In my day, women managed to work and run a household, even in your condition.”
Catherine felt a familiar lump of shame and anger form in her throat. She tried to explain how unwell she felt, but her mother-in-law cut her off.
“Oh, you’re feeling unwell, are you?” she exclaimed. “And who is going to take care of your husband? The house? You can’t just put everything on Mark.”
Mark stood by, silent. Catherine’s eyes pleaded with him to intervene, to defend her, but he just gave a helpless shrug. “Mom, don’t start,” he muttered weakly. “Kate is pregnant.”
“Pregnant is not an illness,” Eleanor snapped. “I gave birth to three children. I was always in perfect form.”
Tears pricked at Catherine’s eyes. She fought them back. “I… I tried,” she whispered. “It’s just very difficult for me right now.”
“You’re always complaining,” Chloe chimed in. “As if we don’t know how pregnant women love to exaggerate.”
Catherine dropped her head, unable to bear their judgment any longer. She felt utterly alone.
“Alright, girls, let’s not argue,” Richard, her father-in-law, finally said, though his voice lacked conviction. He was a man who had long ago learned not to cross his wife.
The family sat at the table, animatedly discussing their own news. Catherine heard snippets of conversation, but her head was swimming.
“Kate, what is this salad?” Eleanor asked, poking at the vegetables with her fork. “It’s hardly festive.”
“I’m sorry, I did my best…” Catherine mumbled.
“You really couldn’t even make a Caesar?” Chloe scoffed. “It’s a classic.”
Mark looked at Catherine guiltily, then addressed his family. “What are you all pouncing on her for?” he said, trying for a conciliatory tone. “We ordered food. There’s plenty for everyone.”
“Ordered food is not the same,” Eleanor sniffed. “Homemade food shows how much a woman cares for her family.”
Catherine’s cheeks burned with shame. She felt like a failure. The room began to feel stuffy, the voices a dull, buzzing drone. She closed her eyes, wishing the evening would just end.
As Chloe told an animated story, Catherine decided to get up and make tea. It was a mistake. The moment she pushed her chair back and stood, the world began to tilt. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and dark spots danced in her vision. She reached for the table to steady herself, but her hands felt weak and useless. A sharp cramp twisted in her stomach, and a wave of nausea rose in her throat.
She tried to call out to her husband, but only a weak, strangled gasp escaped her lips. Mark was engrossed in a conversation with his father, his back to her. The darkness in her eyes grew thicker. She felt her balance give way, and with a soft thud, she collapsed onto the floor.
The chatter in the room stopped instantly. For a moment, everyone just stared.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what is it now?” Eleanor exclaimed. “She’s just being dramatic, looking for attention.”
“Exactly,” Chloe agreed. “What an actress.”
But Mark had spun around. Seeing his wife unconscious on the floor, the color drained from his face. He rushed to her side, dropping to his knees. “Kate? Kate, what’s wrong with you?” he whispered frantically, lightly tapping her cheek. She didn’t respond.
Panic erupted. His mother continued to mutter about her theatrics, but Chloe, her bravado gone, stammered, “Mark… maybe we should call an ambulance.”
Mark was already fumbling for his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed 911. The dispatcher’s calm voice seemed to come from a great distance. As he relayed the situation, his mother stood over Catherine’s still form, still complaining. “See what she’s done? Now we have a real problem because she couldn’t be bothered to make a proper dinner.”
Mark’s control finally snapped. He whipped around, his face a mask of fury. “Mom, for God’s sake, be quiet!” he yelled. “Just shut up! None of your complaints matter right now. All that matters is that Kate and the baby are okay!”
The paramedics arrived quickly. After a swift assessment, one of them looked at Mark gravely. “Her blood pressure is dangerously low. In her condition, this level of stress and exhaustion is extremely dangerous.”
They carefully moved Catherine onto a stretcher. Mark followed them out, his mind a chaotic whirl of guilt and fear. At the hospital, she was rushed away for an examination, leaving him alone in the stark, echoing corridor. He sank onto a hard plastic chair, the weight of his actions crushing him.
Hours later, a doctor emerged, his face serious. “We need to talk,” he said, gesturing for Mark to follow him into his office.
The doctor sat down behind his desk and looked Mark straight in the eye. “Your wife’s condition is stable for now, but she is seriously overworked. The fainting spell was caused by extreme stress and physical exhaustion. At this stage of pregnancy, that can lead to severe complications, up to and including premature labor.”
Mark stared at the floor, each word a physical blow.
“You need to understand,” the doctor continued, his voice stern but not unkind, “that while pregnancy isn’t an illness, it is an immense physical and emotional undertaking. Your wife needs rest, care, and a stress-free environment. What happened tonight was a direct result of neglecting her condition. If you don’t change your attitude, you could lose both of them. I hope you understand the gravity of the situation.”
The doctor’s words were a death sentence for the man Mark had been. He stumbled out of the office, a hollowed-out shell. He had been a selfish, ignorant fool, so obsessed with his own desires and his family’s expectations that he had nearly destroyed everything he claimed to love.
His family was waiting for him in the lobby. His mother started in immediately. “Well, Mark? What’s wrong with her? I told you she was weak…”
“Mom,” Mark cut her off, his voice raw. For the first time in his life, he raised his voice to her. “Enough. Stop blaming Kate. This is all my fault. I didn’t listen to her. I didn’t see how much she was suffering. All I cared about was pleasing you.”
Chloe stood silently, her eyes downcast. For the first time, Mark saw a flicker of something like sympathy in her expression. He turned away from them, unable to bear their presence any longer. He needed to be alone.
When he was finally allowed to see Catherine, he found her awake, staring silently at the ceiling. He stood in the doorway, a chastened schoolboy.
He took a step into the room. “Kate,” he began, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I know you must hate me right now. And I understand why. I was an idiot. A complete, selfish idiot. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
She said nothing, but he saw a single tear trace a path down her temple.
“But I promise you,” he continued, his voice breaking, “I will fix this. I’ll be the best husband, the best father. I’ll take care of you and our baby. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
He waited for her to say something, anything. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with a profound sadness. In that moment, he knew he had a long, long way to go to earn back her trust.
After she was discharged, Mark transformed. He took a leave of absence from work. He cleaned the apartment, filled the fridge with her favorite foods, and bought her a comfortable recliner. He anticipated her every need, surrounding her with a quiet, constant care.
One evening, as he sat by her side, she finally broke the silence. “Mark,” she said, her voice clear. “I want you to know that I’m still hurting. But I see you trying. And I’m willing to give you a chance.” She paused, and her gaze became steely. “But things have to change. I will not be treated like that again. Our child and I must come first. Always.”
Mark took her hand, his heart swelling with a painful, desperate love. “I promise, Kate,” he whispered. “I promise. From now on, you and the baby are my entire world.”
She smiled, a small, fragile smile, but for the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. The crisis had nearly broken them, but it had also been the lesson Mark so desperately needed. He had finally learned that family wasn’t about tradition or obligation; it was about the daily,