When I returned home after a week of work trips, I was shocked. The house was a mess—dishes piled high, toys everywhere, and a blackened banana on the couch. I had left everything organized: meals prepped, laundry done, and the kids’ clothes laid out by day. But Brandon, my husband, had let it all fall apart.
He complained there wasn’t enough food and said he had to focus on his work. I snapped. Without seeing the kids, I left for my parents’ house. There, I felt heard and supported. The next day, I returned to find Brandon trying—cleaning, the vacuum out, and the kids playing happily.
I handed him a breakdown of my unpaid labor and told him things had to change. By the end of the day, he’d made dinner and promised to do more. For the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful—we were finally on the same page.
