“After Our Baby Was Born, My Husband Saw Their Face—and Started Sneaking Out Every Night!”

“The hardest part,” he said, voice breaking, “is when I look at my kid and all I can think about is how I almost lost everything. I see Julia bleeding, doctors rushing, and I’m holding this perfect baby while my wife is dying next to me. Every time I look at Lily, I’m right back there. I’m terrified if I love them fully, it will all be ripped away.”

An older woman leaned forward gently. “Fear of bonding after a traumatic birth is common. You’re not broken, Ryan. You’re healing.”

I slid down the wall outside and cried. All this time, while I worried he might regret becoming a father, he had been dragging himself to a room full of strangers, in the middle of the night, trying to figure out how to be one.

He talked about nightmares that tore him awake, replaying the delivery room in slow motion, avoiding skin-to-skin contact because he feared his anxiety would reach her. “I don’t want her to feel my fear,” he said. “I’ll keep my distance until I can be the father she deserves.”

“Have you thought about including Julia?” the group leader asked.
He shook his head. “She almost died. She doesn’t need to carry me, too.”

I drove home quickly, slid back into bed before he returned, and listened to Lily’s soft breathing. The next morning, while he was at work and she napped, I called the center. “My husband’s been attending your group,” I said. “Is there something for partners?” There was—a Wednesday night circle.

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