Maternity Nightmare: The Shadow of the Past and the Threat of Divorce
Maternity leave turned into a real ordeal for me, Emily, almost tearing our family apart. In a small town by the River Severn, three years of leave with our first child turned my marriage with James into a battleground. Now that life has settled, he’s insisting on a second baby, but the memories of those dark days fill me with panic. His stubbornness threatens to drag us back into the same fights—and maybe even divorce. How do I protect myself without losing my family?
When our son, Oliver, was born, I was full of hope. Before maternity leave, life with James was perfect. We’d dated for two years, then lived together another two before getting married. No arguments—not about chores, not about money. We split everything equally, discussed every expense, and always understood each other. We’d planned for a baby, prepared for the challenges, but I never imagined how brutal reality would be. James, the man I thought was loving and supportive, became unrecognisable, and our marriage started crumbling.
The first few months with the baby were hell. I was a clueless new mum, struggling with crying, colic, and sleepless nights. My whole world revolved around Oliver, but James didn’t get it. He thought all I did was feed him every few hours, pop in a dummy, and then sit around all day. “You’re at home—how hard can it be?” he’d say, complaining that I’d stopped making proper dinners, cleaned less, and didn’t always iron his shirts. If I reheated leftovers, he’d pull a face: “This isn’t edible!” But he refused to help. “I’m the one working all day—you’re at home, you should manage,” he’d snap, ignoring that I was on baby duty 24/7.
Rows flared over everything—dust on the shelves, an unwashed pan, last night’s dinner. Even on weekends, he wouldn’t lift a finger. If I asked for help, he’d snap, “My mum raised three kids, kept a garden, and cooked every single day! You can’t handle one baby in a flat?” His words stung like slaps. I felt worthless, and his indifference killed the love I’d had for him. The worst part was the money control. Once I was on maternity pay, he treated me like I was reckless with cash. He’d demand lists of what I needed but only bought what he approved. Once, he crossed off a haircut: “You look fine, no need to waste money.” The humiliation choked me.
My perfect marriage had become a prison. I dreamed of leaving, but I had no house or job of my own. Through the tears, I made a plan: get through maternity leave, return to work, then go. That thought kept me going. But near the end, something shifted. James suddenly took me to a salon, bought me new clothes so I’d “look the part” when I went back to work. Once Oliver started nursery and I was back in the office, James changed again—back to the kind, caring man I’d fallen for. He helped around the house, stopped counting pennies, and I could hardly believe it. The fights faded, the hurt dulled, and I put divorce out of my mind. We were a family again.
But this fragile peace is now at risk. A few months ago, James dropped the bombshell: “Em, I want another baby.” His words hit like a thunderbolt. The memories—screaming matches, the loneliness—came flooding back. “You know how hard it was for me,” I tried to explain. “I can’t go through that again.” But he brushed it off: “I earn more now, we’ll manage. I want a son, an heir!” His persistence grows, and I see that same cold look in his eyes from before. He won’t listen, won’t understand how terrified I am of being trapped at home again.
Every talk about another baby ends in tension. James pushes harder, and I feel panic tightening my chest. I picture the sleepless nights, his criticism, the money battles—and it makes me physically sick. “I’m not ready, James,” I say. “Give me time.” But he won’t budge: “You’re just being selfish!” His words cut, and I see the shadow of that angry, shouting man returning. I’m terrified we’ll end up back on the edge of divorce, but I can’t bring myself to agree to another maternity leave. Those three years nearly broke me, and I won’t risk my health, my marriage, my sanity again.
Some nights, I lie awake, torn between fear and guilt. James dreams of a big family, and I can’t give him that. Maybe I am selfish. Or maybe he just doesn’t see how deeply he hurt me before? I love him, I love Oliver, but the thought of another baby feels like a knife to the heart. If James keeps pushing, the fights will flare up like before, and I’ll start thinking of leaving again. How do we fix this? How do I make him see that maternity leave wasn’t some blissful time—it was a nightmare I refuse to relive?
Sitting in the quiet of our flat, watching Oliver sleep, my heart aches with love and dread. I want to save our family, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough. James won’t back down, and the gap between us widens every day. If we can’t find a compromise, the marriage we fought so hard to save will collapse. I’m at a crossroads, and every step feels like stepping off a cliff.
