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At 2:17 in the morning, eight months pregnant and barefoot in a Chicago hospital, I watched my younger sister kiss my husband outside a private consultation room. Three minutes later, she shoved me against a wall, and my husband grabbed my wrist instead of helping me. Neither of them knew that the hospital was about to contact three men I hadn't spoken to in seven years. Men my husband had spent years convincing me I didn't need. And men whose arrival would soon threaten everything he had worked so hard to protect.