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.