Husband Tells Pregnant Wife ‘You Know My Mom Comes before You’ & Goes to His Mother Instead of Helping Her

I always thought I had a good life with my husband, Brandon. Sure, we had our problems. I mean, who doesn’t? But I never imagined how quickly everything would change once I got pregnant.

That’s when I discovered what, or should I say who, his true priority was. And let me tell you, it wasn’t his wife or unborn child.

Brandon was different when I first met him at work. He seemed like a sweet man, and we became friends in no time.

His desk was right across from mine in the marketing department, and I loved how he’d leave sticky notes with silly jokes on my computer screen every morning.

When we started dating six months later, I always found him to be super caring. He was the kind of guy who’d bring me soup when I was sick. He even remembered tiny details about my favorite things.

When he proposed on our first anniversary, I didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes!” I practically screamed before he could finish asking the question.

That’s how sure I was about us. I even remember meeting his mother, Ruby, for the first time at our engagement dinner.

She was surprisingly warm, pulling me into a tight hug and saying, “Welcome to the family, sweetie.”

She helped us plan the wedding, offering suggestions for everything from flowers to the cake flavor. Looking back now, I should have noticed how Brandon never made a single decision without consulting her first.

The first few years of marriage were like a dream. We bought our little house in the suburbs, adopted a golden retriever named Max, and spent weekends fixing up the garden together.

Brandon and I were that couple everyone envied.

He would shower me with affection, always talking about how excited he was to start a family someday.

It was almost three years after our wedding when I got pregnant with our baby. I couldn’t wait to show him the positive pregnancy test.

I still remember how his eyes lit up with joy.

“I can’t believe it, Joselyn,” he whispered, hugging me tight. “We’re finally going to be parents!”

He spun me around in our kitchen as we laughed and cried happy tears. He even insisted on taking a picture of the test, saying he wanted to remember this moment forever.

But that excitement didn’t last long.

A month later, I felt something had shifted. I expected Brandon to be there when the morning sickness hit me hard. I thought he’d hold my hair back and tell me everything was going to be okay.

Instead, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Every pregnant woman goes through this, Joselyn. You need to toughen up.”

One morning, I was feeling sick when I called out to him from the bedroom. “Brandon, can you please bring me some water?”

“You should learn to deal with it,” he called back from the living room. “Stop being so sensitive.”

When I finally managed to drag myself to the living room, I found him texting on his phone. He didn’t even look up when I walked in.

“I have a doctor’s appointment next week,” I said, trying to engage him. “It’s the first ultrasound. You’ll come, right?”

“Oh, um, maybe,” he mumbled, still focused on his phone. “Let me check my schedule.”

I tried to convince myself this was just new-dad jitters. Maybe he didn’t know how to handle a pregnant wife. Maybe he felt uneasy watching how sick I felt.

Little did I know there was someone in his life who didn’t want him to care for his pregnant wife.

Everything became clearer during lunch with my best friend, Amelia. She’d just had her first baby and couldn’t stop gushing about her husband’s support during her pregnancy.

“Liam was my absolute rock,” she said, beaming. “He came to every single appointment, even the routine ones. And don’t get me started on how he’d rush out at midnight to get me whatever I was craving.”

“Really?” I asked, picking at my salad. “Even the weird combinations?”

“Especially those!” Amelia laughed. “Last month, I wanted pickles dipped in chocolate ice cream at 2 a.m. He didn’t even question it! Just grabbed his keys and went to the 24-hour store.”

I forced a smile, nodding along.

“That’s great, Amelia. Brandon’s been supportive too,” I lied. “He’s just been great.”

“Oh? What’s he been doing to help?” she asked innocently.

I fumbled with my water glass, making up vague excuses about how he was “there in his own way.”

Amelia’s expression told me she wasn’t convinced, but she was kind enough not to press further.

Later that evening, I was sitting alone in our quiet house when Amelia’s words echoed in my head.

That’s when I started noticing the pattern I’d been ignoring for years.

Every other call on Brandon’s phone was from his mother. Every weekend, he’d either visit her or invite her over.

I’d always brushed it off thinking he was just being supportive. I mean, his father passed away years ago and he didn’t want his mother to feel alone.

Now, though? Now I was starting to see things differently.

Soon, I started keeping track of how often he mentioned his mother versus how often he asked about my pregnancy. The results were eye-opening.

In one day alone, he mentioned “Mom” seventeen times and didn’t once ask how I was feeling.

By my sixth month, the physical toll of pregnancy was really weighing on me. I needed Brandon to be there with me more than ever.

One afternoon, I asked Brandon if he could drive me to my ultrasound appointment.

“Brandon, can you please drive me to the doctor today? I’m not feeling well.”

He barely looked up from his phone. “Can’t. Mom needs help picking up some furniture for her house.”

“But this is our baby’s appointment,” I protested. “Don’t you want to see our little one?”

“I’ll be there next time,” he said with that dismissive smile I’d grown to hate. “Mom’s been waiting for this furniture delivery for weeks.”

“And I’ve been waiting for you to be present in this pregnancy for months,” I muttered, but he was already heading out the door.

Later that week, as we sat in our bedroom, I tried one more time to connect with him.

“Hey, what do you think about shopping for the nursery this weekend? We could pick out a crib together. Maybe get some paint samples for the walls?”

“Oh, sorry babe. Mom needs me to help pick out supplies for her kitchen renovation.”

“Your mother’s kitchen again?” I couldn’t keep the frustration from my voice. “Brandon, we haven’t done a single thing together for the baby. Not one thing!”

“Mom’s renovation is important,” he defended. “She’s been planning it for months.”

“And I’ve been growing your child for months! Doesn’t that matter to you?”

His face darkened. “You know my mom comes before you.”

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he just said those words.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at this man I thought I knew. Before I could respond, he grabbed his keys and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I didn’t bother asking where he was going. Deep down, I already knew.

Hours passed, and the house felt emptier than ever. Around eight that evening, my phone lit up with Ruby’s name.

“Joselyn, dear,” her voice dripped with false sweetness. “I suppose you’re wondering where Brandon is?”

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. “Ruby, I—”

“He’s right here with me,” she interrupted. “Where he belongs. You know, I always told him he needed a stronger woman. Someone who could handle pregnancy without being so needy.” She paused, and I heard shuffling in the background. “And guess what? I won.”

That’s when I heard Brandon’s familiar laugh floating through the phone.

My husband was laughing at his mother’s cruel words while I sat alone in our empty house, six months pregnant with his child.

I hung up without a word as tears streamed down my cheeks. I didn’t call Brandon to ask why he was laughing. I didn’t text to ask when he’d be home. I was done.

After that, I stopped waiting for him to step up. I attended prenatal classes alone, chose the nursery furniture by myself, and started preparing for single motherhood.

Yes, single motherhood even though I was married.

I learned to time my morning sickness around my work schedule since I couldn’t count on help at home. I downloaded pregnancy apps and joined online communities, finding support from strangers when my husband offered none.

Our anniversary was my last attempt at saving us. I thought I’d talk to him and try to make him understand how he needs to rethink his priorities.

I spent hours cooking Brandon’s favorite meal. I set the table with our wedding china, lit candles, and even put on makeup for the first time in weeks.

And guess what he did? He left without a word while I was freshening up in the bathroom.

After an hour of waiting, watching the candles melt and the food grow cold, I called him. I could feel my cheeks burn with anger as I dialed his number.

“Oh, hey,” he answered casually. “I’m at Mom’s. She needed help organizing her photo albums.”

“Of course you are,” I said, my voice shaking. “Why don’t you just stay there and never come back? I’ve been doing everything alone anyway. Just get out of my life, Brandon!”

“Joselyn, I—”

“I’m done, Brandon,” I cut him off. “I’m done with everything. You’re obsessed with your mom, and you need to get over her!”

I hung up before he could respond.

A few seconds later, the texts started pouring in.

You’re just jealous, Brandon wrote. Stop being so dramatic.

Ruby’s message was worse. Learn to occupy yourself instead of being so needy. A grown woman shouldn’t require so much attention.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I channeled my anger into action.

I packed his belongings into two suitcases and left them outside with a note that read, “If you’re that devoted to your mother, you might as well stay with her. I’m done competing for second place in my own marriage. And don’t worry, you’ll get the divorce papers soon.“

That night, I poured myself a glass of sparkling cider and took a selfie.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” I captioned it before posting online.

My hand rested on my belly as I sipped the bubbly drink, feeling lighter than I had in months. For the first time since getting pregnant, I felt truly peaceful.

Brandon tried reaching out several times after that, but I maintained my silence.

His messages ranged from angry (You’re being childish!) to pleading (Can’t we talk about this?) to manipulative (Mom says you’re being unfair to both of us).

I deleted them all.

Some might say I gave up too easily, but I’d argue I held on too long. I deserved better than being second place in my own marriage, and my baby deserved better than watching their mother compete for their father’s attention.

Now I’m focused on creating the best life possible for my little one, free from the toxic dynamic that poisoned my marriage. I’ve started attending pregnancy support groups, reconnected with friends I’d neglected, and even started a journal for my baby.

Do you think I did the right thing? What would you have done in my shoes?