I Had A Video Call With My Husband Who Works On An Oil Rig. It Didn't End Well.

It was going to be the most important video call of my life. In the past six months, my husband and I only had seen each other once–but we'd made it count. I ran my fingers over my abdomen as I recalled that amazing night. According to the doctors, the date of my pregnancy coincided perfectly with the last time I’d seen my husband, and I couldn’t wait to share the good news.

I hadn't expected his visit that night. I’d been boiling some pasta with a half-finished glass of wine in hand when the apartment intercom sounded, and there he was: flowers in hand, wolfish smile on his face, tanned by his time on the rig. As we embraced, I even thought I could smell the sea-salt in his hair. It had been so long since I'd seen those crystal-blue eyes, that muscular back…there was no time to talk, no need to. I barely remembered to turn off the stove before he carried me to bed.

“This is our little secret,” he whispered before he left, hours before dawn. It was such a strange thing to say that I thought I’d misheard him, but later, I understood. There was no way my husband had enough vacation time saved up to visit me. He must’ve taken sick leave without permission and then ran like hell to make his airline connections. Sweet as it had been, it was risky: if he got caught, he might even lose his job.

That must have been why he’d asked me not to mention our magical night together. If a coworker or one of his bosses on the rig overheard us…

Even just telling him about the pregnancy was risky, but I couldn’t wait any longer. We’d been trying so hard for a baby before he left, with no luck. Now that it had finally happened, he deserved to know.

I took a deep breath and launched the video call. Our relationship had been long distance for months now, but I still got a fluttering in my chest while I waited for the call to connect. The background appeared first: ugly industrial furniture, bunk beds, gunmetal-gray walls plastered with photos of the two of us together.

Then I saw his face: blurry, pixelated, but unmistakably my husband.

Even after all this time; we could never figure out who should talk first. I just blurted it out!

“Babe, I’ve got news: I’m pregnant!”

As always, the connection was weak, making my husband’s expression unreadable.

“What…honey…” he stammered, running a hand over his face “...when did this happen? When were you planning on telling me?”

“Well, I mean…it’s pretty obvious when it happened, right?” I laughed. “I would’ve told you sooner, but you asked me not to mention it.”

My husband stood up, looked around for eavesdroppers, then shut the door. I let out a sigh of relief. We could finally speak freely, and I needed that. I needed to hear what he really thought, because based on his reaction so far, he didn’t seem excited. He seemed worried–upset, even–and I couldn’t understand why. We’d talked about this dozens of times, and I had been sure we were on the same page about having a child.

“Okay. Now, I need you to explain to me very carefully what’s going on.”

“I’m sure it happened that night,” I whispered into the laptop microphone. “You know, the night you visited four months ago. I wanted to tell you sooner, but you told me it was our little secret…”

“This is a joke, right?” my husband grabbed his forehead and groaned. “Please tell me this is a joke. Because, babe…I haven’t been off of the rig since I got here.”

I blinked, confused. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening!

A sudden buzz made me jump. The apartment intercom. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the tiny screen: the face and voice looking into it were identical to that of my husband, on an oil rig thousands of miles away.

“Hi, honey!” the thing on my doorstep said, in my husband’s voice. “I brought some more flowers for you and the baby!”