He ate in silence.
And then he said it.
“I want a separate budget,” he said.
“It’s time for you to stop living off me.”
“But…
I left my job because you said you’d take care of us, Greg. You asked me to quit, remember?”
“Well, you should have thought about that earlier,” he said, not even blinking.
And just like that, he kept eating. Not even a pause.
He scraped the last of the meatloaf off his plate, checked his phone, and leaned back in the chair like he hadn’t just shattered something permanent between us.
I stood at the sink, holding the damp cloth in my hand, my fingers clenched so tight I could feel my nails pressing into my skin.
My chest was tight, and my breath felt short. I felt…
erased.
Like a role I’d been cast in without consent — maid, mother, dependent — was being revised without warning.
For a long moment, I didn’t move. I just watched him exist like nothing had happened.
“You think I’m living off you?” I asked finally, my voice low.
“I just think that it’s time you started pulling your weight, Selene,” he said, not looking up.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Not anger.
Not tears… just silence.
That night, after Mason was asleep and the dishwasher hummed quietly in the kitchen, I sat at the table with the calendar spread out in front of me. I traced the weeks with my finger.
I thought of all the deadlines I used to have, all the projects I used to lead, and the names of people who used to rely on me.
I remembered who I was before all of this, before Greg’s version of partnership became a quiet kind of punishment.
By morning, I knew what I had to do.
The following Monday, Greg came home at 6:47 p.m., same as always.
His shoes were half-untied, and he was already scrolling through his phone before he even set his bag down.
He stepped into the living room and froze.
A woman sat in our living room, Mason comfortably seated on her lap. She looked up and smiled gently.
She was mid-fifties, with silver strands of hair neatly tucked into a bun. Her calm hands rested on our son’s thighs.
“Who’s this?” Greg asked, his tone sharp.
I came in from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a towel.
“This is Linda,” I said.
“She’s our new nanny.”
“Nanny?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Selene, since when do we need a nanny?”
“Since I got my job back. And Mason needs someone to look after him properly.”
“Wait! What?
Since when?” Greg shouted, looking at Linda, then at me.
“Since you demanded that I start pulling my weight, Greg.
I called my manager last week, and it turns out that they missed me more than I expected. They offered me my job back without hesitation.
Remotely, of course.”
Linda, ever composed, smiled politely at Greg.
“I charge $25 an hour. That’s fairly standard as far as my work goes.”
“And she’s great with babies!” I said, nodding.
“Since we’re on separate budgets now, I figured we’d split her cost between us.”
“Split it?” Greg stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Are you serious, Selene?! You’re going to be home all day!”
“I am,” I agreed. “But that’s not how remote work functions.
I’ll have deadlines, calls, meetings, and so on.
I can’t do that with Mason on my hip.”
“So now we’re paying someone else to raise our kid?” he snapped.
“You’re more than welcome to take Mason to work with you, if you prefer. I’m sure your clients won’t mind you wheeling in a baby, you know, along with the medical supplies you need to sell.”
He stood there in the middle of the room, his hands clenched at his sides like he was ready to argue, but had no idea what to say.
For the first time in a long time, Greg looked…
unsteady. Like he was standing in a conversation where he no longer had the final word, and he didn’t know how to live in that space.
Linda, sensing the tension, gently handed Mason to me.
He clutched my shirt and rested his head on my shoulder, sleepy and warm.
She offered a quiet goodbye, gathered her things, and slipped out the door with a grace I envied in that moment.
As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between us thickened. I took a breath, walked over to the drawer by the fridge, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. I held it out to my husband.
“What’s this?” he asked, looking at it like it might bite him.
“This is our new home schedule,” I said.
“Since we’re both working now, it only makes sense to split things fairly.”
He took the paper from my hand, his eyes narrowing as he read.
“Buy groceries weekly from the list I’ll provide.”
“Wash your own dishes after meals.”
“Handle your laundry and ironing if I’m in meetings.”
“Clean the living room twice a month — remove couches and rugs to vacuum.
I’ll take care of it the other two weeks.”
He looked up at me, incredulous.
“This is insane, Selene. I’m not doing any housework.
You’re the wife. It’s your job,” he said.
I felt my jaw tighten.
I was tired — tired of being reduced, of being expected to accept less and say thank you for it.
“No, Greg,” I said.
“I’m a person. A person who was so close to giving up her career because you said you’d take care of us. And I did what you asked.
I raised our son.
I kept this house running. I held it all together while you rolled your eyes and stayed out late and made jokes about grocery bills.
If that’s not enough, then maybe you need a different version of ‘wife,’ because this one’s not playing house anymore.”
He didn’t speak. His breath was shallow, his mouth slightly open like he had a rebuttal stuck on the edge of his tongue.
But nothing came out.
I grabbed my bag from the kitchen chair and slipped my shoes on by the door.
“I’m going to Phoebe’s,” I said.
“We need a night, drink some tea, and chat about everything going on in our lives.
Mason’s already asleep. You’ll be fine for two hours alone with your son.”
Greg looked like he wanted to protest, but all he said was, “Fine.”
So I left.
The air outside felt heavier than usual. I didn’t cry.
I didn’t even feel angry.
I just felt… clear.
Like I had crossed a line inside myself and there was no going back. At Phoebe’s, I didn’t say much.
We sipped tea while she worked on her laptop, occasionally glancing up to make sure I was okay.
I sat in her kitchen and realized how much space I had given up just to keep the peace with someone who had stopped offering it in return.
When I came home, the lights were dimmed low.
The TV was on, but the volume was muted. Greg sat on the couch, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the screen like it might explain everything for him.
He looked up when I walked in.
“I don’t want you working,” he said. His voice wasn’t sharp anymore.
It was soft and deflated.
I set my bag down.
“Greg, this isn’t about what you want.
It’s about what I need. I need to know that I’ll never be that vulnerable again.
I need to trust myself more than I trust anyone else.”
He didn’t speak.
“I gave you everything I had. And you made me feel like I was taking up too much space in my own home.”
He nodded, slowly, like the weight of it was finally registering.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he mumbled.
“I know,” I said.
“But it still happened.”
The next week wasn’t easy.
He sulked. He moved slowly through his new responsibilities. He muttered under his breath about grocery lists and cleaning schedules.
But he did them.
Linda arrived every morning like clockwork.
Mason adjusted, and so did I.
Greg still complains now and then — old habits die slowly.
But whenever he starts, whenever he mentions the cost of something or sighs too loudly at the checkout receipt, I just look at him, smile gently, and say one thing.
“You should’ve thought about that earlier.”
