When my husband, Keith, casually told me he was going on a luxurious resort vacation without me because I “don’t work,” I smiled and nodded, letting him think I was fine with it. But under that smile, something had snapped. He honestly believed I spent my days lounging with our newborn, Lily, as if I were on an extended holiday. He had no clue what real work looked like.
I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months. Lily’s cries came like clockwork, and every moment of the day was consumed with feeding, cleaning, comforting, and doing whatever I could to keep the house running. I hadn’t washed my hair in days, wore the same stained shirt for what felt like forever, and balanced Lily in one arm while folding laundry with the other. Still, Keith would come home every evening, exhausted from sitting in meetings, as though I’d spent my day sipping cocktails on a beach. Then, he had the nerve to tell me I didn’t deserve a break—because I wasn’t “working.”
So when he came home, grinning about the Cancun trip with his parents, already dreaming of sand and margaritas, I didn’t argue. I just smiled, said “have fun,” and let him pack his bags. What he didn’t know was that I had my own plans.
The morning he left, I kissed him goodbye sweetly, waited for his car to turn the corner, and got to work. I emptied the fridge. If food magically appeared in our house, he could figure that out. I canceled all our automatic bill payments—water, power, internet, everything. Then, I packed Lily’s entire nursery into the car, left a note on the kitchen counter that read, “Lily and I are on vacation too. Don’t wait up,” and drove straight to my mom’s.
Two days later, I turned my phone back on to find a flood of texts.
“Sharon, where ARE you??”
“The fridge is EMPTY. I had to eat takeout!”
“Why is the electricity off?”
“Where are my clothes?! I have a meeting!”
I let him stew for a bit before texting back, “Relax, babe! Since I don’t work, I figured you wouldn’t mind holding down the fort while I took a little break too.”
His reply came fast. “I GET IT, OKAY? I was wrong. Please just come home!”
When Lily and I returned a couple of days later, the house was a mess. Piles of dishes, mountains of laundry, the stench of takeout containers—complete chaos. Keith stood in the middle of it, looking like he hadn’t slept since we left.
“You’re back,” he said, his eyes filled with relief.
“Looks like you had a relaxing vacation,” I remarked, surveying the mess.
“I was wrong,” he admitted. “So wrong. I had no idea how much you actually do.”
I handed him a folded piece of paper. “Chore list. From now on, we split everything fifty-fifty.”
His face went pale. “Everything?”
“You said I don’t work. So you shouldn’t mind doing half.”
He swallowed hard and nodded. “Fair.”
“Good. Because I booked a spa day for Saturday. You’re on Lily duty.”
Keith reached out and scooped Lily into his arms. “Hey, princess,” he whispered, holding her close. “Daddy missed you.”
“I’ll do better,” he said, looking at me with sincere regret. “I promise.”
“You will,” I replied. “Because next time you tell me I don’t work, I won’t just take the baby. I’ll take the bed, the Wi-Fi, and the dog too.”
He laughed nervously. “Message received.”
I turned toward the bathroom, finally about to enjoy a shower in peace. “Dinner’s up to you tonight. Good luck.”
As I walked away, I heard him whisper to Lily, “Your mom is scary smart. But don’t tell her I said that—I’m already on thin ice.”
I smiled to myself. Lesson learned.