Nick always said he wanted a son more than anything in the world.
“I can’t wait to teach him baseball, fix up cars—just give him the kind of childhood I never had,” he’d say, practically glowing.
I wasn’t against the idea of having children, but I was deeply invested in my legal career. I had worked hard to build a name for myself in a top law firm, managing major cases and earning a salary that far exceeded Nick’s. He worked in marketing—respectable, but not his passion.
We had always supported each other. He never showed resentment over our income gap. In fact, when we started talking about having kids, he promised:
“When we have our little boy, I’ll stay home. You’ve worked too hard to walk away now.”
It sounded like a dream.
And when I finally got pregnant—with a son—Nick was over the moon. He told everyone he was going to be a stay-at-home dad. He even practiced swaddling a teddy bear.
But once our baby arrived, everything changed.
The first month was chaos, like it is for most new parents. But instead of stepping up, Nick started backing away.
“He cries too much.”
“I think he just needs you more.”
“Can you change him? I just sat down.”
He withdrew more each day, leaving me to manage both the baby and my demanding job. I’d nurse our son with one arm and answer client emails with the other. Still, I told myself he just needed time.
Until one night, while I was juggling both baby and work, Nick leaned in and said:
“Maybe you should just quit. Stay home full-time. That’s what moms usually do.”
I laughed—until I realized he was serious.
He smirked. “You didn’t actually think I was going to be a stay-at-home dad, did you? That was just talk. I figured once he was born, your maternal instincts would kick in.”
I stared at him, stunned. The man who swore nothing would change for me had just pulled the rug out from under me.
I kept my voice calm.
“You made a promise, Nick. You said I wouldn’t have to give up my career.”
“Plans change,” he muttered.
“No,” I said. “You changed.”
Then came the word that pushed me over the edge:
“It’s selfish for a mom to choose work over her baby.”
I nearly dropped the baby from how hard that hit.
I swallowed my anger and said, “Fine. I’ll quit.”
Nick lit up, smiling like he’d won.
But then I added, “On one condition.”
He looked curious. “What?”
“The day I quit is the same day we file for divorce. You’ll pay child support based on my current income, and I’ll seek full custody. Because I won’t stay married to someone who lies and manipulates just to get out of parenting.”
He went quiet. Completely stunned.
Later that night, he packed a bag and went to his parents’ house. I wasn’t upset.
The next morning, his mother called me.
“We’re with you,” she said gently.
Nick’s dad chimed in from the background:
“He told everyone he was going to be a stay-at-home dad. Now he’s backing out because it’s hard? That’s not how this works.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I wasn’t alone in seeing through him.
A few days later, Nick returned. Humbled. Quiet.
He admitted he’d panicked, that he hadn’t expected how hard it would be. That he tried to shift the responsibility onto me out of fear.
I told him fear doesn’t excuse broken promises.
We had a long conversation. Real, honest. And from there, we rebuilt—with new rules.
I stayed in my job. He stepped up. We brought in a part-time nanny, and he handled nighttime feedings and meal prep. Slowly but surely, he became the father he had always claimed he wanted to be.
Was it perfect? No. But it was honest.
And every so often, when things get tough, I remind him,
“Remember—I meant what I said about the divorce.”
He laughs. “I know. That’s why I’ve got dinner in the oven and diapers stocked.”
Moral of the story?
Never make promises you don’t intend to keep—especially not to a woman who knows how to write her own custody agreement.