At 34 weeks pregnant, I was jolted awake by my husband’s frantic cries of “fire!” Only to find out it was a prank—his friends had dared him to scare me with my deepest fear. I had always been terrified of fires since my childhood home burned down, and Daniel knew that. His laugh was like a punch to the gut. I was crushed, not just by the prank, but by his complete disregard for my trauma. In that moment, I realized that Daniel, despite five years of marriage, didn’t truly care about my feelings. I couldn’t protect myself or my unborn baby from his careless behavior. I called my dad, who immediately came to support me. We packed my things, ignoring Daniel’s apologies and excuses, and left. Once home, I made a decision. I filed for divorce. His actions were unforgivable, and I couldn’t allow him to teach our child that this behavior was acceptable.Two days later, Daniel’s apologies were pouring in, but it was too late. The damage was done. I realized I had to prioritize my emotional well-being and my baby’s safety over trying to salvage a relationship with someone who couldn’t respect me.Divorce was a hard decision, but one I knew was necessary for my peace of mind. I could no longer live in fear, not from fires—and certainly not from someone who didn’t understand the gravity of my pain.