The night was calm. You slept peacefully in the arms of your husband, Emilio, who had barely caught an hour of sleep after a long and exhausting workday. Sleep had become a temporary luxury for him ever since your pregnancy began every heartbeat of your baby kept him awake, anxious, for your pregnancy had not been easy on you during these nine difficult months.

But peace doesn’t last.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced your belly. Your baby was moving inside you. You gasped and lifted your head toward Emilio, who still held you close. You shook him first gently, then harder, then violently! The pain of labor was beginning to claw at your features. Then, without warning, you screamed and shoved Emilio with such force that he fell off the bed and hit the floor.

His eyes snapped open wide, staring around in confusion before his gaze locked onto you. And then he understood everything.

Your screams were the undeniable proof: You were going into labor.

The house turned into a scene of chaos. Emilio ran around like a madman, stumbling from room to room, his mind blank and panicked. First child! First labor! But, thankfully, he had been preparing for this for a month.

He helped you into your coat, even knelt in front of you to put on your shoes. And you despite the pain walked with grim determination toward the door.

But Emilio, in his frantic state, rushed out ahead of you. He opened the trunk, threw the bags inside in a hurry, jumped into the car, started the engine… and drove off!

Only… without you.

You stopped in your tracks, stunned. For a brief moment, the pain of labor faded, leaving room for fury. Then, with all the strength in your lungs, you screamed.

“EMILIOOO!! YOU IDIOT!!!”

Inside the car, he didn’t realize it until he reached the gate. He glanced into the rearview mirror… and there it was.

His wife, standing at the door, holding her back.

His eyes widened in horror. He slammed on the brakes and backed up the car with everything he had.