My Dad Said He Was Getting a Divorce at 11 p.m.—But the Truth Was Something I Never ExpectedWhen my dad showed up at my front door at 11 p.m., holding a packed bag and saying, “I’m divorcing your mother,” I was stunned. Completely frozen. But as the night went on, I realized this wasn’t just about a marriage ending—something deeper and weirder was going on.And up until that very night, life had actually been going great.

I was seven months pregnant with our first baby, and even though I waddled everywhere and had crazy cravings for peanut butter pickles, I was glowing—or at least Peter, my sweet husband, said I was. Peter and I had spent weeks turning the guest room into a warm little nursery.The walls were painted a soft sunshine yellow, and above the crib, a mobile of tiny stars spun slowly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. Every night before bed, Peter would gently rub cocoa butter on my belly while we tried to decide on baby names. “How about Emma if it’s a girl?” Peter asked one night, his hands moving in slow, soothing circles.