Father of my baby mocked me for picking $3 buns for dinner at the grocery store

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 Father of my baby mocked me for picking $3 buns for dinner at the grocery store 


 the next moment, my future was rewritten.


I was seven months pregnant when, one night, my boyfriend and I went grocery shopping.

It was supposed to be quick — bread, milk, a few things for dinner. 


But the moment we walked in, I could tell he was in one of his moods.


He grabbed a cart and said, "Don't make this a marathon, okay? You take forever."

I tried to ignore him, rubbing the small of my back. The baby’s been kicking nonstop lately.

But as soon as I picked up a pack of whole-grain buns, he rolled his eyes.

"THOSE? SERIOUSLY? YOU JUST PICK WHATEVER'S MOST EXPENSIVE. LIKE YOU THINK MY WALLET'S SOME KIND OF CHARITY!"

"Can we not do this here?" I whispered. "Please, just—"

He cut me off, loud enough for people in line to hear.

"OH, RIGHT. CAN'T UPSET THE PREGNANT PRINCESS. YOU PROBABLY PLANNED THIS WHOLE THING ANYWAY — A BABY MEANS YOU'RE SET FOR LIFE, HUH?"

My face burned. I glanced around — people were staring.

"Stop it," I said quietly. "Not in public."

He smirked. "Why? Embarrassed? You should be."

I tried to put the buns back on the shelf, but my hands were shaking. They slipped, hit the floor, and burst open.

He laughed — actually laughed.

"Wow. You can't even hold a bag of bread. HOW ARE YOU GONNA RAISE A KID?!"

Little did he know that a moment later, I'd be the one laughing. Because suddenly, he choked mid-laugh, eyes going wide, staring at something behind me.

"What?" I said, still shaking, and turned around. ⬇️

Full in the first c0mment
























Father of My Baby Mocked Me for Picking $3 Buns for Dinner at the Grocery Store — Next Moment, My Future Was Rewritten

I thought I was building a life with the father of my baby — until a trip to the grocery store exposed just how wrong I was. What happened next, in front of a shelf of bread, changed everything.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was 31 and hopeful. Jack and I had been dating for almost two years, and for a while, it felt like the relationship was heading somewhere real. But months into my pregnancy, my boyfriend started changing for the worse, leading me to wonder if I’d made a mistake staying with him.

Jack and I were the kind of couple who spent Sunday mornings in bed talking about baby names and whether we’d raise our future kids with dogs, cats, or both. We also discussed how we’d decorate a nursery and what kind of parents we’d want to be.

I thought we were in love, as we used to hold hands at the grocery store. He’d say things like, “Can’t wait to have a little one who looks just like you,” and I believed him. I thought we were on the same page.

So when I stared down at that positive test, heart racing and palms sweaty, I was nervous but over the moon! I imagined the way I’d tell him—something sweet, maybe a cupcake with baby shoes on top. Instead, I just blurted it out one night over dinner, too excited to wait!

“I’m pregnant,” I said, barely above a whisper, eyes locked on his across the pasta I’d made. At the time, he was telling me about the tough day he had at work when I cut him off with my unexpected, for both of us, announcement.


Jack looked stunned for maybe two seconds, then stood, walked over, and hugged me so tightly I thought I might cry!

“I’m ready to be a dad,” he said, and it sounded real. I trusted that, and for a while, it felt like everything I’d ever wanted was finally happening.

But trust has a way of cracking quietly, because his declaration changed fast.

My boyfriend changed within weeks.

The changes were not in big movie-scene ways. There were no shouting matches or cheating scandals. It was smaller, meaner things like snide comments, eye rolls, and silence where laughter used to be.

Almost overnight, Jack became someone I didn’t recognize.

He started criticizing and snapping at me over small things. Like the way I folded the towels, how long I spent in the shower, leaving dishes in the sink, and forgetting to turn off a light.


The man I loved even got on my case about how I breathed! Once, he actually said, “You breathe so heavy now, it’s like you’re trying to steal all the oxygen.”

He said it with a grin, as if it were funny.

It wasn’t.

At first, I convinced myself he was just stressed. I mean, he worked a lot. He was a junior executive at a corporate logistics firm. He was focused on deadlines, forecasts, and pushing numbers around. And now there was a baby on the way.

Maybe that pressure was getting to him.

Then, money became his obsession.

Every grocery run turned into an interrogation. He’d pull out receipts like a detective exposing a crime.

“Why the name-brand dish soap?” he’d ask, holding the bottle like it burned him. “Are we royalty now? What, you think I’m made of cash?”


I started buying off-brand everything just to keep the peace.

Jack used to hold my belly and talk to the baby. Now he barely looked at me. He stopped touching my belly and stopped asking how I felt.

Every meal I made was “too salty” or “too bland,” and every nap I took was me “being lazy.” If I mentioned feeling tired or dizzy, he’d roll his eyes and mutter, “You’re not the first woman to ever be pregnant.”


I should’ve left; I know that. But I wanted my baby to have a father. I wanted to believe the sweet man I fell in love with still lived inside him somewhere. I kept telling myself it was stress—that once the baby came, he’d soften again.

So I stayed, hoping he’d come back to me.

Then came the night that changed everything.

It was a rainy Thursday. I was seven months along and exhausted. Jack had just gotten home from work and tossed his keys on the counter.

“Let’s go to the store,” he said. “We’re out of milk.”

I nodded, not arguing. I grabbed my purse, and we headed out.

At the store, the air conditioning blasted cold air that made my already tight back clench. The baby had been kicking all day. I rubbed my side and the small of my back gently as we walked in.


Jack grabbed a cart and turned to me.

“Don’t make this a marathon, alright? You take forever every time. This is just a quick stop for bread, milk, and a few things for dinner.”

I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to fight. From the moment we walked in, I could tell he was in one of his moods.

We went through the aisles mostly in silence. He tossed a few cans of soup and frozen dinners into the cart without asking what I wanted. Then we reached the bakery section. I saw a pack of whole-grain buns on the shelf and picked it up. They were soft, fresh, and on sale for $3.29.


As soon as I placed them in the cart, Jack scoffed.

“Those? Really? You just have to go for the most expensive thing every time. Like I’m made of money. You think my wallet’s some charity?” he said, rolling his eyes.

“They’re three dollars,” I said softly. “And they’re on sale.”

“Still more than the white ones. But sure, anything for the pregnant princess.”

I froze. “Jack, can we not do this here? Please, just—”

He raised his voice loudly enough for people in line to hear. “Why not? Embarrassed? You should be. Probably got pregnant on purpose. A baby means you’re set for life, huh?!”

I felt like the floor had dropped! My face burned. I glanced around—people were turning and staring. A woman next to the rotisserie chickens gave me a look that was both pity and discomfort.


“Stop it,” I whispered. “Please. Not in public.”

He smirked. “What, I’m not allowed to talk to you now? You’re so sensitive. Hormones, right?”

I tried to put the buns back on the shelf, but my hands were trembling. They slipped from my grip and hit the tile floor. The plastic tore open, and the rolls scattered everywhere!

Jack laughed—actually laughed!


“Wow. You can’t even hold bread. How are you gonna hold and raise a baby?”

My throat tightened. Tears were right behind my eyes.

Little did he know that a moment later, I’d be the one laughing. Suddenly, he choked mid-laugh, eyes wide, staring at something behind me.

I was about to bend to pick up the buns. “What?” I said, still shaking, turning around.

A man in his mid-30s, sharp navy suit, leather shoes, briefcase in hand, was standing behind me. He was the kind of man who carried himself as if he didn’t just walk into rooms—he owned them.

He looked as if he had just stepped out of a boardroom.

The man knelt beside me, picked up the buns with clean precision, and placed them gently back in the torn bag.

Then he stood, looked at Jack, and said in the calmest voice I had ever heard:

“Jack, I thought I paid you well enough to afford your child’s mother three-dollar buns. Or am I mistaken?”

Jack’s face lost every ounce of color!

“M-Mr. Cole,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean—she just—I was joking, sir. It’s not like that.”

Cole raised an eyebrow, his tone flat. “Not like what? Publicly shaming the mother of your child because she picked the wrong bread?”

Jack was frozen. He glanced around, but nobody was coming to rescue him.

Cole continued. “If this is how you treat your partner, it explains why your client interactions have been so… problematic.”

Jack’s lips moved, but no words came. He gave a nervous laugh and said something about “teasing” and “pregnancy emotions,” but Cole wasn’t buying it.

“You might want to rethink how you ‘tease.’ Because frankly, Jack, I’ve seen better professionalism from interns.”

That shut Jack up completely.

Then Cole turned to me, and his entire





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