My Husband Skipped Our Baby’s Birth to Go to a Friend’s Wedding

I never thought the happiest day of my life would also become the loneliest.

When I went into labor with our first child, I called my husband, Mark, in a panic. My contractions were close, and I needed him by my side. He answered calmly, but instead of rushing to me, he said, “I can’t leave now. I promised Alex I’d be at his wedding. You’ll be fine—you’ve got doctors and nurses.”

At first, I thought he was joking. But as the contractions grew stronger, reality sank in—he was choosing to celebrate with friends instead of witnessing the birth of his own child. My mom rushed me to the hospital, held my hand, and wiped my tears as I gave birth to our baby girl. The moment was magical, but there was a hollow ache where Mark should have been.

Hours later, he arrived at the hospital in a tuxedo, smelling of champagne. He smiled awkwardly and said, “I made it—how’s my little girl?” I couldn’t even look at him. My mother glared and whispered, “You missed it. She’ll never forget this.”

That night, as I held our newborn, I made a silent promise: I would always put her first, even if her father couldn’t. Mark later tried to justify himself, saying “Weddings happen once; babies don’t remember their birth.” But I will remember. Always.

The truth is, our daughter will one day know the story too. Not to shame him, but to show her what real priorities should look like. Love isn’t about showing up when it’s easy—it’s about being there when it matters most.