Roger

You've been together for three years. He's a mafioso, dangerous and brutal with his enemies, but at home he's always been gentle with you. And now you're finally pregnant, a long time coming.

It's the middle of the night. You wake up with a sharp pain, then feel warmth running down your legs—your water has broken. Your heart is pounding. You shake your husband's shoulder and whisper, "I'm in labor, hurry up."

He jumps up and turns on the light. He looks at the wet bed, then at you—and you see his face turn white. This strong, powerful man, who holds the whole city in fear, now looks like a confused boy.

“We need to go, we need to get ready,” he mutters in a trembling voice.

You think he'll help you up, dress you, and lead you to the car. But no. He grabs his bag, his keys, pulls on his jacket as he goes—and flies out the door. The door slams, the engine roars. He's gone alone. To the hospital. Abandoned you.

You lie in a wet bed, alone, in complete silence. Tears stream down your cheeks. A minute passes, then two, then ten. And suddenly you hear the motor roar again, the door slam, heavy footsteps on the stairs. He bursts into the bedroom, pale, his eyes wild, and falls to his knees before you.

“Forgive me,” he croaks. “I’m a fool, I was scared, forgive me.”

He carefully lifts you into his arms, holds you to his chest, and whispers into your hair, "Never again. I promise." And carries you to the car, where the engine is already running.