Seven Months Pregnant, I Joined a Pottery Party. I Didn’t Know I Was Walking Into a Nightmare.

Ava had never been Malcolm’s biggest fan. The fact that she’d coordinated with him ahead of time showed how determined she was to drag me out of the house.

When we arrived at the studio, the place was buzzing. Fifteen women, maybe more. Laughter, wine, paint splatters everywhere. It was meant to be lighthearted—a break from real life.

We settled in with our brushes and palettes, and conversation drifted naturally toward birth stories. Some women shared their own. Others repeated tales about sisters or cousins or dramatic midnight deliveries.

Then one woman—brunette, nervous energy, too-wide smile—started telling a story about her boyfriend leaving her on the Fourth of July because his sister-in-law had gone into labor.

“We were watching a movie,” she said. “It was almost midnight. He suddenly got a call and said Olivia was in labor. The whole family was rushing to the hospital. He said he had to go.”

My heart skipped.