Michelle Kane

and the matter comes to the point.

In the march of life, I married the love of my life, and I believe him when he swore, better or worse.

He is my port in the storm, and I can no longer imagine a life without him in it.

But as we approach the three-year anniversary of our marriage, I have to face the fact that I have never told him about my mother, about my family background, about any of it.

I told him my mother had a mental illness and I was raised by my father, which are both true.

I always assumed we would come back to it and I would confess the gruesome details.

But then we never did.

He never asked and it never came up.

Time passed and I figured I would get to it eventually.

Except that now I'm pregnant and I still have not told him.

I have not told him about the pregnancy, and I haven't told him about my history.

I don't know what is stopping me, except the potential that this knowledge will change how he feels for me.

When his love for his unborn child is met with the knowledge of my past, which will win?

Will the devotion he swore to his wife outweigh his paternal obligation to protect his child?

Will he believe me when I assure him that I am not my mother or my grandmother?

I almost woke him last night as I watched him sleep, but I had a vision of a violent conflict, and I had to leave the room so my crying wouldn't wake him.

And now I find I dread the moment, the inevitable reaction he will have to what he may regard as our impending doom.

I don't know if my husband's love for me will outweigh his horror at what he fears might lie ahead.

And as I consider it in the black of night, with him sleeping beside me, I am finally admitting to myself that I don't altogether care.

It isn't that I don't love him or trust him or want him by my side to raise this child.