Her voice was cheerful, but her tone—it was the specific tone of someone waiting to be thanked.
“Hey sweetie!” she chirped. “I just wanted to make sure Daniel found the Tupperware for the leftovers. I forgot to put the soup away before I left.”
I pulled the car over. My heart was pounding. “Wait… you were at the house today?”
“Oh, of course!” she laughed, oblivious. “Every day since you went back to work. Daniel said it was just too much to juggle the baby and the house alone, so he asked if I could come over to handle the cleaning and cooking. I usually get there around 9 AM and leave right before you get home. Didn’t he tell you? I folded five loads of laundry today! Isn’t it great seeing him so relaxed?”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. The texts flashed through my mind. “Made soup.” “Laundry’s going.” “Read three books.”
He hadn’t crushed it. He hadn’t done any of it. He had simply outsourced the invisible labor to another woman—his mother—and taken credit for being “Super Dad” while I felt inadequate.
When I walked through the door ten minutes later, Daniel was lounging on the couch, feet up, looking smug. The house smelled like his mother’s cooking.
“Welcome home,” he smiled, not looking up from his phone. “House is spotless, baby is happy. Honestly, babe, I don’t know why you found this so stressful.”
I stared at him, then walked over and dropped my keys on the counter.
“Your mom called,” I said quietly. “She wants to know if you found the Tupperware for the soup she made.”
The color drained from his face instantly. He sat up, stammering, but I held up a hand.
“Since it’s so easy,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “Tomorrow, your mom stays home. You’re doing the soup, the laundry, and the nap schedule. Alone. For real this time.”
Daniel didn’t text me once the next day. When I came home, the sink was full, the baby was crying, and Daniel was asleep on the floor, looking like he’d been through a war.
He never rolled his eyes at me again.
