My baby had a 104-degree fever when my husband called his mother from the ER. She arrived, shoved his coat into his hands, and screamed that he “didn’t sign up for this much stress.” I didn’t argue. I gave my husband one choice—and watched what he did.
My daughter was four months old the night I realized my husband thought fatherhood was optional.
Her name is Nora.
At 11:30 that night, she felt hot against my chest.
Not normal baby warm. Burning.
I took her temperature twice because I didn’t trust the first number.
My husband thought fatherhood was optional.
104.1.
I called our pediatrician, trying to keep my voice steady while Nora screamed against my shoulder.
“Take her to the emergency room now,” she said. “Don’t wait to see if the fever comes down.”
Ethan was standing in the kitchen in pajama pants, staring at me.
“What did she say?”
“Take her to the emergency room now,”
“We need to go.”
He closed his eyes.
“Could this night get any worse?” he muttered.
I was too worried about Nora to think too deeply about what he meant.
***
By two in the morning, we were still sitting in the ER waiting room.
“Could this night get any worse?”
Nora had screamed herself hoarse. Her cries had become these weak, broken sounds that made my stomach twist every time I heard them.
I sat in a hard plastic chair with her tucked against me, rocking back and forth.
I was terrified.
Ethan paced near the vending machines.
Her cries had become these weak, broken sounds.
Every few minutes, he checked his phone.
Then the clock.
Then his phone again.
Finally, he rubbed both hands over his face.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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