He was no longer arguing.
“We have three daughters now,” I said. “If you won’t do these things for yourself, how are you going to do it for our kids, or is that all on me, too?”
The room went quiet. All eyes were on Sam.
He didn’t reply.
I nodded. “I see… well, if I’m responsible for everything, then why should I keep you when all you’re doing is giving me additional work and stress?”
All eyes were on Sam.
“How can you ask that?” Sam cried. “We’re married… we have a family…”
“That you’re not prepared to do anything for.”
I crossed my arms. “This is what’s going to happen now. I’m taking the girls, and we’re going to stay with my parents. If our family means so much to you, then you’ll do the work to save it. You’ll clean our apartment, and you’ll correct what you posted. Publicly.”
Sam nodded. He had no ground left.
“We’re married… we have a family…”
Later that night, as I settled the triplets in the spare room at my parents’ house, I checked my phone.
A new post from Sam showed him cleaning our home.
The caption read: “I was wrong. I disrespected my wife when she needed me most. The mess was mine, not hers.”
I exhaled. Did I know if this would fix things? No.
I checked my phone.
Did I know if Sam would actually change, or if this was just damage control? No idea.
But here’s what I did know: I wasn’t going to be humiliated again.
And if you’re wondering whether I felt bad about ambushing him like that, here’s my answer: not even a little bit.
