When I went into labor with our first child, I expected my husband Michael to be my emotional anchor. Instead, he showed up at the delivery room with his Xbox, snacks, and even invited his best friend Greg because he “didn’t want to get bored during the long early labor.” While I was breathing through contractions, he was busy setting up a mini gaming station, completely oblivious to how humiliating and stressful it was for me. The final straw was when Greg casually strolled in with fast food, ready to join the “session.”

The nurse, clearly uncomfortable, tried to intervene, but Michael brushed her off, insisting he had hours before things got serious. That’s when karma walked in — his parents, Margaret and Robert, arrived unexpectedly to support us. They saw everything: the Xbox, the headset, Greg, and me in pain being treated like background noise. His mother, normally calm and composed, simply said in a low, firm voice: “Michael. Outside. Now.” He turned pale and followed her like a scolded child.

While Michael was being lectured in the hallway, the nurse comforted me and helped me refocus. His father quietly stayed by my side, holding my hand silently in support. When Michael returned, his entire demeanor had changed — the Xbox was gone, Greg had fled, and he was shaken but finally present. He apologized, stayed beside me attentively, and held my hand through every contraction afterward.

Our daughter was born a few hours later. As Michael held her, teary-eyed, his mother whispered to him, “Now she needs a partner, not a player.” He has been trying to make up for that night ever since. And as for the Xbox? Let’s just say it now lives permanently in the garage.