Mark was a senior when we met in college. From the first moment we met, his good looks and sunny personality left a lasting impression on me.

He said he fell in love with me at first sight.

While we were in school, despite his family’s financial struggles, Mark took on extra jobs just to buy me birthday gifts. He promised me that one day he’d make me the happiest woman in the world.

Mark told me how his father had passed away when he was young and how his mother had single-handedly raised him. He said growing up in hardship made him cherish the people he loved even more.

But my father, Shawn Rand, who was the dean of the business school, wasn’t thrilled about our relationship.

He was concerned that the differences in our families—socially and financially—would cause problems in our future marriage. He urged me to think carefully before making any big decisions.

At first, I thought my father was being unfair, but eventually, I agreed with my parents that I would wait until after grad school to marry Mark.

Mark understood and promised he’d prove, with time, that he was worthy of my trust and love.

But that summer, my parents tragically lost their lives in a car accident. They passed away before I could say goodbye.

I was devastated and spent my days drowning in tears.

Mark stayed by my side every single day, holding me and whispering, “June, don’t cry. You’re not alone. You have me. I’ll be with you, always.”

Three months later, Mark and I got married.

Because I was still in mourning, we didn’t have a wedding. Instead, we went to my parents’ graves to pay our respects.

I’d never forget how Mark knelt before their graves, promising them he would take care of me for the rest of my life.

But, as it turned out, those promises’ didn’t mean much over time. Just entering the second year into our marriage, he cheated—and while I was pregnant.

I felt lightheaded, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but suddenly, I felt a warm gush between my legs.

I gasped in panic, my voice trembling, “Faye! My water just broke!”

Instinctively, I held my breath and squeezed my legs together, but the amniotic fluid kept leaking uncontrollably.

Faye Chanel, my mother-in-law, walked into the room and saw the fluid soaking through my nightgown. Instead of helping or panicking, she scoffed and said, “What’s there to cry about? You’re just having a baby! Don’t be so dramatic. It’s bad luck!”

When she first moved in with us from the countryside, she was kind to me. But as time passed, her true colors showed. She became bossy, treating me like I was her servant—even during the latter stages of my pregnancy.

In that instant, I knew I couldn’t depend on her. And I definitely couldn’t count on Mark, who was likely tangled up in bed with his mistress at that very moment.

I focused on staying calm by taking a deep breath. Carefully, I shifted toward the head of the bed, trying to elevate my legs to slow the flow of amniotic fluid. Then I reached for my phone on the nightstand, ready to call an ambulance.

But before I could dial the number, Faye snatched the phone from my hand, hung up the call, and stuffed the device into her pocket. She shot me a nasty glare and snapped, “You stupid, wasteful woman! Do you think ambulances are free?”

I had read many news stories about women whose babies suffered from oxygen deprivation because they didn’t reach the hospital in time after their water broke. The consequences were terrifying.

I was petrified. I begged her, “Faye, I’ll pay for the ambulance myself. Please, just give me the phone!”

She sneered, “You? With what money? Any money you have is Mark’s money. I’m not letting you waste my son’s hard-earned cash on something so ridiculous! You’ll give birth here, at home. Just scream a little, and it’ll be over. No need for a hospital!”

At first, I thought she had to be joking. I’d tolerated her attitude and her bullying because I thought she was just a bitter old woman. But this baby was Mark’s child too!

But to my horror, she was serious. She told me to wait, then headed downstairs, saying she was going to get scissors and some alcohol to deliver the baby herself.

I was completely paralyzed with fear.