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

“Where were you?” I asked over coffee, keeping my tone light.
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a drive.”

That night, I pretended to sleep. Around midnight, he slipped out of bed. I grabbed my keys and followed him from a distance. He drove past our old date-night ice cream spot, out past the city, and pulled into a worn-down community center with a flickering sign: HOPE RECOVERY CENTER. He sat in the car for a long minute, then hunched his shoulders and went inside.

I waited, then peeked through a half-open window. Folding chairs in a circle. Twelve people. My husband, head in his hands.

“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.

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