My husband has been sitting on the couch for three hours now. One leg over the other, phone in hand, chips, the remote, and a dirty mug on the table. I’m rocking the baby.

My hands are shaking. My head is pounding. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal.

And yet he — my husband — once told me:

“If you don’t give me a child, I’ll leave. I need a family, and it’s your obligation.”