I always thought housework was easy—something women just complained about. But when my wife left me alone for a day to handle everything myself, I quickly realized I was the problem.
I came home from work, dropped my keys on the table, and collapsed onto the couch. It had been a long day, and all I wanted was to relax.
The smell of something cooking drifted in from the kitchen, warm and inviting. Lucy was at the stove, stirring a pot. Danny stood on a chair beside her, his little hands busy peeling carrots.
Lucy glanced over her shoulder. “Jack, can you set the table?”
I barely looked up from my phone. “That’s your job.”
She didn’t respond right away. I heard her sigh, the same tired sigh I’d heard a hundred times before. Danny, of course, didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll do it, Mommy!” he said, hopping down from his chair.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Lucy said with a smile.
I shook my head. “You’re gonna turn him into a girl, you know.”
Lucy stiffened, but she didn’t turn around. Danny, on the other hand, frowned at me. “What’s wrong with helping, Daddy?”
“Boys don’t do housework, kid,” I said, leaning back on the couch.
Danny looked at Lucy, confused. She gave him a small pat on the back and handed him the silverware. “Go on, set the table,” she said softly.
I watched as Danny carefully placed forks and spoons on the table. He looked proud of himself, like he was doing something important.
The next day at work, I overheard Lucy’s friends inviting her to their annual conference. It was just an overnight trip, nothing big. At first, she hesitated. Then she looked thoughtful.
That night, she brought it up while I was watching TV. “Hey, my work conference is this week,” she said. “I’m going. I’ll be back by noon the next day.”
I glanced at her. “Okay?”
“You’ll need to take care of Danny and the house while I’m gone.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s easy.”
Lucy smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smile. It was the kind that made me feel like I was missing something. “Good,” she said. Then, she went to pack her bag, and I texted my boss that I would be off tomorrow.
The next morning, I groaned as I rolled over in bed, squinting at the alarm clock. 7:45 AM.
Wait. 7:45?
Panic shot through me as I bolted upright. Lucy always woke me up when she got Danny ready for school. But she wasn’t here. Because she had left. And I had overslept.
“Danny!” I shouted, throwing off the covers and stumbling into the hallway. “Get up, we’re late!”
Danny shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s at work,” I muttered, yanking open his dresser drawers. “Where are your clothes?”
“Mommy picks them.”
I exhaled sharply. Of course, she did. Digging through the drawer, I pulled out a wrinkled T-shirt and some sweatpants. “Here. Put these on.”
Danny frowned. “They don’t match.”
“It’s fine,” I said, tossing them to him. “Just hurry up.”
I ran to the kitchen to throw together breakfast. Lucy always had something ready—pancakes, eggs, toast—but I didn’t have time for that. I shoved two slices of bread into the toaster, grabbed a juice box, and turned around just as a loud snap came from behind me.
Smoke curled up from the toaster. I rushed over and yanked the black, burnt, and rock-hard toast out.
Danny wandered in, nose wrinkling. “Ew.”
“Just eat a banana,” I said, tossing one onto his plate.
“But I wanted pancakes.”
I groaned, rubbing my face. “Danny, we don’t have time for pancakes. Just eat what you can, we gotta go.”
Danny sighed but peeled the banana anyway.
I shoved him into his shoes, grabbed his backpack, and got him into the car, speeding off toward school.
By the time I got home, my frustration had only grown. The shirt had to be washed, and since Lucy wasn’t there to do it, I had to figure it out myself. How hard could it be?
I walked up to the washing machine, staring at the buttons and dials like they were written in another language. Heavy load, delicate, permanent press? What did any of that even mean? I turned a knob, but nothing happened. I pressed a button. Still nothing.
After a minute of fumbling with it, I huffed in defeat and threw the shirt on the floor. Forget it. I’ll just grab another one.
Next, I tried ironing my work shirt. I pressed the iron down, expecting the wrinkles to disappear. Instead, a sharp smell filled the air. Lifting the iron, I stared in horror at the giant hole now burned through my shirt.
I groaned and tossed it into the trash. Who even invented irons?
I tried making lunch. A simple meal—chicken—nothing complicated. I pulled a frozen pack from the freezer, slapped it onto a pan, and turned the heat up.
Ten minutes later, thick smoke billowed from the stove. The smoke alarm beeped loudly, screeching in my ears. Coughing, I flailed at it with a towel until it finally silenced.
I was exhausted.
This was supposed to be easy.
By the time I picked Danny up from school, I was barely functioning. He walked in, took one look around, and frowned. “Daddy… what happened?”
I let out a long sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, bud. I tried to do everything, but nothing went right.”
Instead of laughing, Danny gave me a thoughtful nod. “Okay. Let’s clean up.”
I stared at him. “Huh?”
“Mommy and I do it together all the time,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can show you.”
He walked straight to the washing machine, pressed the right buttons, turned the knob, and started the cycle. Then he loaded the dishwasher like a professional.
At six years old, my son was more capable than I was.
“Why do you help so much?” I asked.
Danny grinned. “Because Mommy needs it.”
Those four words hit me harder than anything. Lucy wasn’t nagging. She wasn’t dramatic. She was tired. And I had been too blind to see it.
The next evening, I came home from work and found Lucy and Danny in the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables while Danny stirred something in a bowl.
Lucy glanced up, smiling. “Hey. How was your day?”
I stepped forward, rubbing the back of my neck. “Better than yesterday.”
She smirked. “I’ll bet.”
Then she held up a knife. “Want to help me make dinner?”
A week ago, I would’ve laughed. But now, I saw things clearly.
I stepped forward. “Yeah. I do.”
Lucy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but then she handed me a cutting board. I picked up a tomato and started slicing, clumsy but determined. Danny giggled, and Lucy smiled.
We weren’t just making dinner. We were finally working together.
