I’m 26. When I got pregnant with twins, I thought something would change.

That people would soften.
That my partner would protect me.
That carrying two lives would earn at least a little kindness.

I was wrong.

Briggs loved calling himself a provider. What that really meant was: he earned money, and I owed him obedience. When I moved in after getting pregnant, he promised security. What I got was constant exhaustion and quiet humiliation.

As my belly grew, so did his demands.

He dragged me everywhere. Client meetings. Warehouses. Supply runs. I carried boxes with swollen ankles and a burning back while he said things like,
“You wanted kids. This is part of it.”

I didn’t argue. I was tired. And scared. And pregnant with two babies who depended on me staying calm.

The breaking point came on a random Tuesday.

We’d been out since morning. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. My hands were shaking. My vision kept dimming.

“Can we stop somewhere?” I asked softly. “I’m really hungry.”

He laughed.
“Stop acting like a queen. You’re pregnant, not special.”

We pulled into a small diner.

I scanned the menu, heart racing. I ordered the cheapest thing I could find — a $5 Cobb salad.

Briggs scoffed loud enough for people to hear.
“A SALAD? Must be nice to waste money you didn’t earn.”

He ordered a burger and a beer.

I said nothing. I ate slowly, trying not to cry.

That night, Briggs came home different.

Quiet. Smaller.

He dropped his keys on the counter and sat down hard. Didn’t even look at me.

Turns out, while we were at the diner, one of the men sitting behind us had recognized him.

Not as a client.

As an auditor.

The diner had been filled with people from a company Briggs had been trying to secure a contract with. The “joke” he made about money. The way he spoke to me. The mocking. The control.

It all got reported.

The next morning, Briggs lost the contract he’d been bragging about for months.

Two days later, his company put him on review.

A week after that, he was let go.

And suddenly, the “provider” couldn’t provide.

He tried to apologize. Tried to soften his voice. Tried to tell me stress made him act that way.

I packed my bags anyway.

I moved in with my sister. I slept. I ate. I felt my twins kick without fear.

Briggs learned something important.

You don’t lose everything all at once.

Sometimes, it starts with mocking a $5 salad…
and ends with being left alone with exactly the person you chose to be.