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When my daughter Abby was struggling to breathe from her allergy attack, my husband Nathan Goodwin didn't even blink—he ran straight to the hospital to look after Olivia Lane, his old flame, who just had a cold. The sneakers he kicked on in his rush were the same ones I'd scrubbed clean the night before. I couldn't believe that Nathan, who used to swear I was his whole world, would abandon me at a moment like this. I confronted him, seething with anger, but he planted his feet like I was the one in the wrong. "If you'd just breastfed Abby when she was born, she wouldn't be so weak now," he shot back. I stared at the vein pounding in his temple, and suddenly a wave of exhaustion crashed over me.