He Was Polishing Her Shoes While I Was Dying

My water broke. My Mafia husband got down on one knee — to polish my best friend's shoes.

I begged. I screamed. I told him we could both die. He told me to stop being dramatic and waited for her to wash her hair, curl it, do her makeup, and pick her nails.

At the hospital door, pen in hand, he still stopped to wait for her.

That's when the elevator opened.

A more powerful Don walked straight past my husband, took the clipboard, and signed his name.

I'm her husband. I'll sign.