At 39 Weeks Pregnant, My Husband Woke Me Up Yelling, ‘Why Isn’t My Laundry Folded? Get Up and Do It Now’

Jennifer, who is 39 weeks pregnant, is tired, in pain, and trying to maintain harmony in a slowly chilly home. When the illusion is broken by a late-night outburst, she is defended by unexpected voices. Following the incident, Jennifer is forced to confront the realities of love, family, and what it means to truly feel safe—for both herself and her kid.

My head is still spinning after everything that has transpired in the last several days, and I am currently 27 years old and 39 weeks pregnant.

Allow me to explain.

I was raised in foster care. I don’t know of any siblings or other family members. When life became too difficult or depressing, I had no parents to turn to.

I spent the majority of my youth as the girl who packed everything she owned in plastic grocery bags and carried her own documents between schools.

In a world that hardly ever made room for me, I learned early on how to keep my head down, how to smile when I was afraid, and how to minimize myself.

So it seemed like a fresh start when I met Luke.

He was in his thirties and had a knack of attracting people. In addition to being self-assured and assertive, he had a family, which was something I had never had.

A large, noisy, and cozy family.

I nearly confused quiet for love because I was never taught what safety felt like.

When we first met, Lydia, his mother, pulled out a homemade pie and gave me a hug. Without asking, his father, Carlton, replaced the porch light on my small rental and instructed me to address him by his first name.

“Jennifer,” he had been saying. “Honey, you’ll call me Carlton. We don’t need any formality because we are family.

It was like receiving a house I had never thought to imagine.

“Jen, this might be it. “Perhaps this is how safe feels,” I recall murmuring to myself.

Two years ago, Luke and I tied the knot. I believed that everything was going smoothly at the moment. He wasn’t flawless; when things didn’t go his way, he could be a little abrasive and demanding, but he always dismissed it as honesty.

He’d laugh and add, “I don’t sugar-coat things, honey,” “Jen, you’re familiar with me. I simply state things as they are.

I refrained from arguing. I had lived my entire life attempting to stay out of trouble and get acceptance in other people’s lives. I didn’t want to jeopardize what I had at last located.

Something changed between us when I became pregnant. It was silent and sluggish, not abrupt.

It was only a tone in Luke’s voice at first. He would sigh as if I had wasted his entire morning if his gym shorts weren’t clean. He would look at the dish for a long time before pushing it away if the food wasn’t exactly what he had requested.

“You forgot the sauce,” was his blunt way of saying it. “Once more. Really, Jen. What’s the matter with you? I had a lot higher expectations.

Perhaps he was anxious about becoming a father, so I manufactured excuses. Perhaps this was his way of dealing with stress. But every week the excuses got weaker. Before long, I was unable to take a nap without listening to him complain about being lazy. He would redo the towels in front of me if I folded them the way I always did.

I kept telling myself that it was just stress each time I gave in to his rage, but stress doesn’t change a person’s soul.

He once remarked, “I’m not trying to criticize,” “But is it that hard to do it right?”

I reminded myself it was only temporary. I continued to think that after the kid was born, he would change. He would soften once more. That he would remember to show kindness.

My in-laws arrived to stay three days ago.

Lydia filled her suitcase with pregnancy vitamins, soup, cookies, and warm socks. Carlton texted me to check if I had enough pillows and to find out what snacks I was craving.

“My grandchild is being carried by my girl! Please let us know what you need, honey.”

To be near our baby’s birth, they traveled from two states away. To be honest, I felt relieved. It felt secure to have another person in the house, a barrier between me and the Luke I no longer recognized.

Luke mentioned things to me while we were together ourselves that I had never shared with others. I wasn’t even certain that I knew what to say.

However, all of my feelings surfaced when Carlton entered the living room and gave me a piece of chocolate cake.

Jen, you have our utmost admiration. “Honey, you’re doing a fantastic job,” he added.

I almost burst into tears on the couch. It was strange to be seen.

Then came last night.

All day, I hadn’t been feeling well. I felt as though the baby had sunk further into my body, my back hurt from the inside out, and my tummy was tight. It was the kind of pain that burns slowly and makes even walking difficult.

I prepared a straightforward spaghetti dish, cleaned up the dishes, and went to bed early. Just get through tonight, I recalled thinking.

Eventually, I turned over on my side and was kicked hard. With one hand on my stomach, I closed my eyes and grinned to myself.

How come my clothes hasn’t been folded? Jen? I also expressed my need to have a black formal shirt ironed for tomorrow. “Now get up and do it!” Luke screamed, his voice slamming into me.

“What? What’s happening? Bewildered, I blinked.

He said, “I said get up,” again, his face near me. “Jen, you’ve been asleep all day. I leave for work and return home with nothing completed at all.

Before the guy I loved expected more from me than my spirit could provide, I believed I had mastered survival.

I gently sat up. With everything being pulled forward by the baby’s weight, my spine hurt. I didn’t argue, though. I didn’t stand up for myself. I simply relocated. I got up, sore and barefoot, and made my way to the washing basket.

I ran my fingers over the cloth.

I said to myself, just fold it. Don’t make this worse; just fold it quickly and iron his shirt.

Then, behind us, I heard footsteps.

Carlton yelled, “Sit down, Jennifer,” “Now.”

I went cold.

Slowly, I turned.

Standing at the doorway was Carlton. He appeared as though he had just entered a combat zone. His jaw was clenched and his arms crossed, yet his voice was steady and quiet.

“You must be joking with me. “Are you really saying that to your expectant wife?” he yelled. “Who the hell do you think you are, Luke?”

My husband’s face was getting redder by the moment as he opened his mouth.

His voice rose defensively, “Dad, this is my house,” he said.

“No,” answered Carlton, more acerbic.

His gaze was fixed on his son as he moved farther into the space.

“You don’t get to pull that card tonight,” he responded. “You’ll fold your own fucking laundry. Additionally, your wife will take a seat and relax. What about me and your mother? Until the baby is born, we will remain. Because it’s obvious that you need assistance remembering how to treat people, particularly the woman who is pregnant with your child.”

The loudest love might occasionally be the type that declares, “No more.”

The silence fell. I lowered myself back onto the bed’s edge as my knees gave way a little. I held one hand over my stomach and the other over my mouth.

It wasn’t until my breath caught and the emotions began to come in waves that I realized I was weeping.

Carlton didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t shout once more. But no yell could ever overpower the disappointment in his voice.

With her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on her kid, Lydia emerged from the doorway.

Softly, “This isn’t okay, Luke,” she said. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Luke’s face turned a deep scarlet with rage. He snatched up the laundry basket and said something that I couldn’t hear but didn’t have to hear. Then, with his footsteps thumping like a tantrum, he raced out of the room.

Lydia, my mother-in-law, returned a few moments later carrying a mug of hot chamomile tea. At first, she remained silent. As if we had done this a hundred times before, she simply walked across the room, placed the cup lightly on the nightstand, and sat next to me.

Carlton trailed behind, bringing the desk chair closer and quietly letting out a breath as he settled in.

He said, “Sweetheart,” with a soft voice and a direct gaze on me. “I have no idea what’s happening with my son… However, you did nothing incorrectly. Do you hear me?

With trembling lips, I nodded.

“You’re family,” he declared. Additionally, we won’t leave you to face this challenge alone. We swear.

And what do you know?

They meant it.

The following morning, Luke hardly talked at all. Like a ghost, he hovered around the house’s boundaries, observing but saying nothing. His parents took over as though they had been anticipating this moment for months.

Without a word, Lydia took over the kitchen, humming sweetly while preparing warm bread and scrambled eggs.

I sat snuggled up on the couch with one hand on my belly and the other over a cup of tea as Carlton cleaned the living room and dusted the baseboards.

Luke ironed the wash, clearly resentful but without a fight. He cleaned the bathtub. He went to the grocery store. And he didn’t voice any complaints.

I heard Carlton conversing with him in the corridor later that day. They were unaware that I was hearing, but I stood at the bedroom door, tense and not breathing.

Carlton responded, “This isn’t about laundry, Luke,” in a forceful but quiet manner. “This has to do with maturing. This has to do with becoming a good person. Do you believe that you are the only one under stress? You yell at that female like she’s your maid as she carries your child and tries to keep the house running.”

A pause occurred. I pictured Luke with his arms crossed.

Carlton went on to say, “You yelled at her like she didn’t matter,” As if she hadn’t done enough already. And what do you know? That ends now. Because we will assist her in raising the child without you if you don’t resolve this and mature into the guy she needs.”

I received no answer. Nothing but quiet.

In the living room that evening, I observed Luke folding a basket of onesies. He didn’t raise his head. Lydia massaged my swollen feet while she sat next to me on the couch. My water glass was silently refilled by Carlton.

The words “I don’t know what to do,” I muttered.

Lydia said, “You don’t have to know yet,” “Just give yourself some time to relax. Allow yourself to feel secure.

I gave a nod.

I’m not sure what I’ll ultimately decide. I’m not sure if Luke is going through a sea change or if this is just a fleeting episode of embarrassment. What I do know, though, and I feel deep down, is that I felt noticed for the first time in a very long time.

Safe. Not by themselves.

And that’s sufficient for now.

I padded into the kitchen to grab a glass of water one night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. My weight caused the hallway to creak, a sound that only old homes can produce.

There was already Carlton, leaning against the counter and drinking tea from a white mug that had chipped.

Gently, “Couldn’t sleep either?” he inquired.

The statement, “Your grandbaby won’t stop moving,” made me smile. It’s unbelievable that we’ll be here in less than a week. I’m ecstatic, but I’m also a little scared.

“That’s a good sign,” he said with gratitude. “The horror and the shifting around. That’s a good amount of expectation. I too felt that way prior to Luke’s birth. Naturally, Lydia put in the most effort, but I was also taken on a rollercoaster by the emotions.

For a while, the only sound between us was the hum of the refrigerator as we sat there in silence.

He finally added, “You know,” as he poured me a drink of milk. “Lydia and I had a hard time when she was pregnant with Luke.”

He assured me I wouldn’t have to deal with it alone, but he didn’t guarantee Luke would change.

Startled, I turned to look.

“Jen, I wasn’t always the person I am now. I used to believe that working hard and making ends meet was sufficient. However, your identity changes, your body changes, and your patience wanes. What if your spouse doesn’t support you through those changes? It becomes quite isolating.

I swallowed, “That’s exactly how it feels,”

He nodded slowly. “But I learned,” he said. “I was forced to. I nearly lost her. Lydia was about to leave me because her parents were prepared to take her home. They desired to raise the child alongside her. But I realized it was time to take charge at that point.

I blinked to stop the tears from coming back.

“Just because you married Luke, Jen, doesn’t mean you have to forgive him. But we’ll be here if you ever feel prepared to rebuild. What if you’re not? He put his cup down. “This is where we’ll be. We’ll do everything we can to help you.”

I was unable to talk. I simply nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude that I couldn’t quite put into words.

And I didn’t cry when I went back to sleep that evening.

I felt complete.