Thirty-four weeks pregnant, I was deep asleep when Daniel, my husband, suddenly shouted in the middle of the night:

“Fire! Fire! Get up!” My heart pounded as I grabbed my pillow to protect my belly and ran downstairs, terrified.

But instead of danger, I found Daniel and his friends laughing uncontrollably.

It was all a prank—something they thought would be “fun.

” For me, it wasn’t. I froze, remembering the house fire from my teenage years,

the smell of smoke, the panic, and the trauma that had stayed with me ever since. Continues…