I used to think 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, tossed 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 stood at the stove, stirring a pot, while Danny stood on a chair beside her, his small hands peeling carrots with determination.
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. Instead, 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 excitedly, 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.
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, 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. 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.”
In the kitchen, I shoved two slices of bread into the toaster and grabbed a juice box. A loud snap came from behind me.
Smoke curled up from the toaster. I rushed over and yanked out two burnt, rock-hard slices.
Danny wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”
“Just eat a banana,” I said, tossing one onto his plate.
“But I wanted pancakes.”
I groaned. “Danny, we don’t have time for pancakes. Just eat.”
Getting Danny to school was a race against time. Shoes on, backpack thrown over his shoulder, a rushed drive through traffic. By the time I dropped him off, I was exhausted.
I grabbed a hot dog from a drive-through on the way home, taking a big bite as I drove. That’s when I felt something cold and sticky spread across my chest.
I looked down. Ketchup. Bright red and everywhere.
Great.
Back home, I threw my ketchup-stained shirt in the laundry. I stared at the washing machine, fiddling with buttons and dials that made no sense. After a few minutes, I gave up and tossed the shirt on the floor. Forget it.
Next, I remembered I had an early meeting the next day. Lucy always ironed my shirts. How hard could it be?
I plugged the iron in, spread my best shirt on the board, and pressed down.
Instantly, the smell of burning fabric filled the air. I lifted the iron and stared in horror at the giant hole in my shirt.
“Are you kidding me?!”
Defeated, I decided to make lunch. I pulled a frozen chicken breast from the freezer, slapped it onto a pan, and cranked the heat up.
Ten minutes later, thick smoke billowed from the stove. The smoke alarm blared. Coughing, I flailed a towel at the detector, silencing it.
By the time I picked Danny up, I was ready to collapse. When we walked inside, he froze.
“Daddy… what happened?”
I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, bud. I tried to do everything, but nothing went right.”
Instead of laughing, Danny nodded. “Okay. Let’s clean up.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Mommy and I do it together all the time,” he said. “I can show you.”
Danny marched to the washing machine, picked up my ketchup-stained shirt, tossed it in, and pressed the right buttons. I watched in shock.
“How did you—”
“Mom taught me,” he said with a shrug.
Next, he loaded the dishwasher like a pro. Then he wiped the counters, tossed the burnt chicken, and placed a fresh dish towel by the sink. My six-year-old was handling the house better than I had.
A knot tightened in my chest.
“Why do you help so much?” I asked.
Danny grinned. “Because Mommy needs it.”
Those four words hit me harder than anything. Lucy didn’t just want Danny to learn—she needed help because I never gave it.
For years, I had watched my father sit back while my mother worked herself to exhaustion. I thought it was normal. But now, watching my son do what I had stubbornly ignored, I saw everything differently.
Lucy hadn’t been nagging. She had been tired, just like my mother had been. And I had been too blind to see it.
“Danny?” I swallowed hard. “Thanks, buddy.”
Danny beamed. And I knew things had to change.
The next evening, I found Lucy and Danny in the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables while Danny stirred something in a bowl.
Lucy glanced up. “How was your day?”
I rubbed 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 and gone to the couch. 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.