The room felt still.

“I saw how stressed you were,” he explained. “Your blood pressure was rising. You weren’t sleeping. I was terrified that pushing you toward a divorce in that state would hurt you — or the baby. So I told you something that would calm you down. Something that would make you wait.”

I stared at him, trying to reconcile the deception with the intention behind it.

“I needed you to focus on carrying that baby safely,” he said. “Now he’s here. Now you’re both safe. We can handle your husband the right way.”

I didn’t know whether to cry again or to laugh in disbelief.

My father — who had always preached honesty — had lied to protect me.

It wasn’t a comfortable lie. It wasn’t graceful. It shook my trust for a moment.

But it bought me time.