When my husband smugly announced he was going on a resort vacation without me—because, in his words, I “don’t work”—I smiled sweetly and told him to enjoy himself. But behind that smile? Oh, I was already planning a lesson he’d never forget.
Keith waltzed into the house like he’d hit the jackpot. Beaming. Oblivious. Too smug for his own good.
“Guess what?” he said, tossing his keys into the bowl and collapsing onto the couch like he hadn’t just passed me pacing the hallway with our screaming 12-week-old. “Mom and Dad are going to a resort. They invited me. I’m going next week.”
I blinked. I was running on fumes—two hours of sleep, half a granola bar, and the last sip of cold coffee—while holding Lily, who was red-faced and shrieking in my arms.
“Wait… what?” I asked, hoarse.
Keith shrugged. “I need a break.”
A pause. Long enough for me to hear my own blood boiling.
“And me?” I asked quietly, rocking on my feet, gently patting Lily’s back.
He gave me that look—the one that makes my eyelid twitch. “Babe, you don’t work. You’re on maternity leave. It’s not like you’re in an office all day.”
I almost choked on air.
“So… taking care of a newborn 24/7 doesn’t count as work?”
Keith laughed. “Come on. You nap when the baby naps, right? It’s like a long vacation. Besides, I’m the one bringing in the income. I deserve this.”
Oh no, sweetie.
I smiled again—the kind of smile only a truly furious wife can manage. “Of course, honey. Go. Enjoy yourself.”
He thought he’d won. He had no idea.
The morning he left, I kissed his cheek and waved from the porch with the baby on one hip, diaper bag slung over the other, and fire in my eyes.
The moment his car disappeared, I got to work.
First, I emptied the fridge. Since I “do nothing all day,” he must think food magically appears.
Then, I piled every load of laundry—dirty towels, onesies, his gym socks—right in front of the washer.
I logged into our joint account and paused every automatic payment: internet, water, electricity, streaming. All of it.
Next, I packed up Lily’s entire nursery—crib, changing table, diapers, wipes, all of it—into the car and drove it straight to storage.
Finally, I left a note on the counter:
“Lily and I are on vacation too. Don’t wait up.”
I turned off my phone and drove straight to my mom’s.
Freedom never felt so good.
Keith promised to call every night, so I knew it wouldn’t take long. Two days later, I turned my phone back on and watched the chaos roll in.
“Where are you, Sharon? Why aren’t you answering?”
“I’m coming home early. Where are you and Lily?”
“The fridge is empty. I had to order takeout!”
“The power bill’s past due—they’re threatening to shut it off!”
“Where are my work clothes? I have a meeting tomorrow!”
I gave him one more day to stew before texting back:
“Relax, sweetheart. I figured since I don’t work, you wouldn’t mind handling things while I took a little break too.”
The panic was immediate.
“I get it! I was wrong! Just please come home.”
I returned two days later, Lily on my hip, ready to assess the damage.
The kitchen was a disaster—takeout boxes stacked high, dishes overflowing the sink. The laundry situation? Even worse.
And there stood Keith, unshaven and sleep-deprived, looking like a broken man.
“You’re back,” he said, voice cracking.
I glanced around. “Looks like you had a relaxing time.”
He ran a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”
I waited.
“I had no idea how much you do every day. I couldn’t even keep things going for a week.” He gestured at the chaos. “I was wrong. About everything.”
“And?”
“And I was selfish to suggest staying home with Lily wasn’t work. It’s more exhausting than anything I do at my job. I see that now. I’m really sorry.”
I nodded slowly, letting it sink in.
“I missed you both,” he said softly. “Without you, the house felt empty.”
“It is empty,” I said. “I took everything that mattered.”
He gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I noticed.”
I pulled a folded sheet of paper from my bag and handed it over.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A new system. We’re splitting the chores 50/50 now.”
His face paled. “All of them?”
I patted his shoulder. “You said I don’t work, so I’m sure you can handle half while I take a few much-needed breaks.”
Keith looked down at the list, then back at me. “Fair enough.”
Finally, I smiled—for real this time. “Great. Because I’ve got a spa day booked for Saturday. You’re on Lily duty.”
He picked up our daughter with a grin. “Hi, princess. Daddy missed you.”
Lily gurgled happily, totally unaware of the power shift that just took place.
“I’ll do better,” Keith promised, eyes on me. “I swear.”
“Oh, you will,” I said. “Because next time you say caring for our baby isn’t real work, I’ll leave—and take more than just the diapers.”
He laughed nervously. “Message received.”
I walked toward the bedroom. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower. Alone. Can you handle dinner?”
He bounced Lily on his hip and said, “I’ll figure it out.”
As I left, I heard him whisper to her, “Your mom’s a genius. But let’s not tell her I said that—I’m already in enough trouble.”
I smiled to myself.
Lesson learned.