“Fine. I’ll get a job. But only on ONE CONDITION,” I said, locking eyes with Derek.
His face twisted in annoyance.
—“What condition?!”
I kept my voice calm, though my hands were trembling.
—“If I’m going to work, then you’ll be responsible for the kids and the house while I’m gone. Everything I usually do—laundry, cooking, cleaning, bedtime. Fair trade, right? You want equality, Derek? You’ll get it.”
He smirked, arrogant as ever.
—“Piece of cake. I work harder than you already, how bad could it be? Go ahead. Get your little job.”
So I did.
Within a week, I started a part-time office job. Nothing fancy—just admin work—but it paid decently. And the moment I walked out the door each morning, Derek was officially “Mr. Mom.”
Day one: He called me at 10 a.m., frantic.
—“Where’s Noah’s diaper cream? He won’t stop crying! And Caleb spilled juice everywhere. The washing machine won’t start!”
I smiled into the phone.
—“Figure it out, Derek. OTHER PARENTS do it.”
Day three: I came home to find the kitchen looking like a war zone—flour on the floor, dishes piled high, Noah screaming, Ava’s homework untouched. Derek sat in the corner, hair sticking up, eyes hollow.
—“How do you DO this every day?” he whispered.
Day five: He didn’t even try to hide his exhaustion. He threw his suit jacket on the couch and muttered,
—“This is IMPOSSIBLE. I barely survived the week.”
I calmly set down my bag.
—“Exactly. This is what I’ve done for years. Without a paycheck. Without thanks. And you called me a PARASITE?”
The silence was deafening.
Finally, he dropped his head into his hands.
—“I… I was wrong.”
But it wasn’t just an apology I wanted—it was change.
So I told him:
—“If you want this marriage to survive, respect me. Respect the work I do, paid or not. Or you’ll be packing your bags.”
For the first time in years, Derek had no comeback.
And you know what? From that day forward, he started pulling his weight. Dinner wasn’t always edible, laundry sometimes turned pink—but he tried. And most importantly, he never called me a parasite again.
Turns out, sometimes the harshest lessons come when someone finally has to live a day in your shoes.