Adeline had endured countless tantrums, slammed doors, and careless remarks over the years, but nothing compared to the blow her children delivered that evening. Both of them, in unison, shouted the same words: “I wish you didn’t exist!” They were loud, ungrateful, and too young to understand how deeply they cut her. Normally, she was patient, letting their moods pass. But this time, something inside her gave way.
If they truly wanted to know what life without her was like, she would let them experience it.
People often dismissed her role as a housewife as simple—days filled with leisure while her husband worked hard. But Adeline knew the reality. Her life was endless tasks: meals to cook, lessons to teach, laundry to fold, tantrums to calm. She had no paycheck, no weekends, no recognition—just constant responsibility.
Her mornings started before sunrise, making lunches, ironing uniforms, brewing Bartholomew’s coffee, and wrangling Cedric, her strong-willed five-year-old, out of bed. Then there was Florence, her daughter teetering on the edge of adolescence, armed with eye rolls and sarcasm that could unravel Adeline’s patience in seconds. Bartholomew, though not cruel, believed his paycheck excused him from any household duties. To him, what Adeline did each day was invisible.
Dinner that night played out like so many before—strained smiles, arguments simmering just under the surface.
“How was preschool, Cedric?” Adeline asked, trying to keep things light.
He shrugged. “Okay… but Miss Carter might call you.”
Her fork froze. “Why?”
“She said you can’t pet stray dogs because they might have… rab… rab—”
“Rabies,” Florence supplied with a roll of her eyes.
“Yeah, rabies,” Cedric agreed. “I didn’t like that, so I bit her.”
Adeline’s jaw dropped. “You bit your teacher?”
Cedric puffed out his chest proudly. “She said rabies comes from bites, so I showed her.”
Florence snorted. “Mom, you’re raising a wild animal.”
Adeline shot her a sharp look. “Don’t insult your brother.” She turned to Bartholomew, desperate for backup. “Anything to say?”
He barely looked up. “You’re doing fine, love,” he muttered, patting her hand before returning to his plate.
Frustrated but unwilling to fight, Adeline asked Florence about her day. “Fine,” came the bored reply, followed by a casual reminder about a planned sleepover.
The next day spiraled further. Cedric’s room looked like a bomb site. Adeline endured the humiliation of apologizing to Miss Carter for the bite. Then Florence’s school called—she’d skipped classes. By evening, Adeline was at the end of her rope.
She intercepted them as they came home. “Both of you, stop. We need to talk.”
Florence groaned. “What now?”
“Cedric, your room’s a disaster. No video games until it’s clean.”
Cedric’s face flushed. “That’s not fair!”
Florence smirked. “Nice one, Cedric.”
Adeline turned her glare on her daughter. “And you skipped class. You’re grounded. No sleepover.”
Florence shot up from her chair, furious. “You can’t do that! I hate you! I wish you didn’t exist!”
Cedric echoed her with a shout: “Yeah, me too!”
Adeline’s chest tightened. Their words hit harder than they could ever know. That night, she poured out her heart to Bartholomew, hoping for comfort.
He shrugged. “Maybe you were too harsh. They’re just kids.”
She stared at him. “Did you hear what they said to me?”
“She didn’t mean it,” he said dismissively.
That was it. The breaking point. “Fine,” Adeline said coldly. “I’ll show you all what life looks like without me.”
Bartholomew frowned, confused, but she offered no explanation.
That night, while the house slept, she quietly removed every trace of herself—clothes from closets, books from shelves, her morning coffee mug, even family photos that showed her face. She tucked everything into boxes in the attic, where she created a small hideaway: an old mattress, a blanket, a lamp. From there, hidden cameras she had installed in the kitchen and living room would let her see how her absence affected them.
The next morning, Cedric padded into the kitchen. “Where’s Mom?”
Florence looked unsettled. “Her stuff’s gone. Even the pictures.”
Bartholomew tried calling her, but her phone was switched off.
“Maybe she’s gone forever,” Cedric whispered.
Florence forced a smirk. “Good. No more nagging.”
Cedric cheered. “That means I can play video games all day!”
That first night, Adeline clenched her fists as she watched them eat pizza and laugh over video games. But when Cedric doubled over in pain from the cheese he couldn’t digest, Bartholomew had to miss work to tend to him. By the third day, the cracks widened—laundry piled high, dirty dishes filled the sink, and Florence dragged herself to school without lunch or clean clothes.
That evening, the children finally broke.
“I miss Mom,” Cedric sobbed.
Florence, pale and exhausted, whispered, “Me too. I got my period today, and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to call her so badly. I was horrible to her.” Tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean it.”
Bartholomew rubbed his temples, looking defeated. “This is what happens when you take someone for granted. Your mother carries this whole family.”
“I’ll keep my room clean,” Cedric promised through tears. “I’ll never bite anyone again. Just please bring her back.”
Florence choked out, “I’ll stop yelling. I’ll listen. I just want her home.”
That was enough. Adeline stepped into the living room, her face streaked with tears. “Now you know what life without me feels like.”
The kids gasped, then ran into her arms, clinging to her as though they’d never let go.
“Mom! We’re sorry! We’ll never say that again!”
Bartholomew stood, his voice thick. “I didn’t realize how much you did. Thank you. I’ll do better.”
Adeline kissed her children’s foreheads. “I love you. But love means respect. Remember that.”
That night, Bartholomew washed dishes beside her for the first time in years. Cedric cleaned his toys without complaint. Florence sat beside her, asking for advice with quiet sincerity.
It wasn’t a flawless family. But they finally understood her worth. Adeline hadn’t left forever—only long enough to teach them the truth: without a mother’s love and labor, a home cannot stand.