I woke to the sound of my husband making breakfast. He brought me tea, awkwardly setting it down.
“I’m… sorry,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
I looked at him, the brace stiff against my neck. “You didn’t want to realize. You wanted me to keep going so you wouldn’t have to change.”
He flinched. “I’ll do better.”
His mother appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “You WILL do better. Or you’ll move back in with me until you learn how to be a husband and father.”
Days passed. He began taking the baby at night, changing diapers, cooking meals. At first, it was clumsy, resentful. But slowly, something shifted. He laughed when the baby splashed water during bath time. He hummed while folding laundry.
I watched, cautious, unsure if it would last. But his mother’s shadow lingered — a reminder that someone was watching.
One evening, he sat beside me. “I didn’t realize how much I leaned on you. I thought money was enough. But it’s not. I was selfish.”
I said nothing, but inside, a small knot loosened.
