The woman, experiencing labor pains, called her husband. He, holding his mistress in one arm and his phone in the other, coldly replied, “If it’s a girl, I don’t want to raise her; she’ll only be a burden on the house… Go live with your parents!” Then he hung up.

The woman, shaking with labor pains, called her husband. He, with his arm wrapped around his mistress and his phone pressed to his ear, answered without warmth: “If it’s a girl, I’m not raising her. I won’t fill my house with another burden. Go stay with your parents.” Then he hung up.

The next day, when he came home, his world was no longer his.

That night, heavy rain battered the rooftops of Seattle. Wind rattled the windows of the old brick buildings in Capitol Hill, and on the fourth floor of a narrow walk-up, Emily stood bent over, one hand gripping her swollen belly as another contraction tore through her.

She could barely breathe. Her phone lay on the kitchen counter. With trembling fingers, she dialed her husband.

“Jason… Jason, it’s time. The contractions are getting closer. Please, I need you. I’m scared…”

A pause. Then his voice, flat and irritated.

“You can’t be serious. I told you already—if it’s another girl, don’t expect me to stick around. I’m not raising a second disappointment.”

“You’re saying that while your child is being born?” Emily cried, her body shaking.

“I’m busy. Figure it out.”

The line went dead.