I always thought housework was easy—something women just complained about. But when my wife left me alone for a day to handle everything, I quickly realized I was the problem.
One evening, I collapsed on the couch after work. Lucy was cooking dinner with Danny helping, and I dismissed her request to set the table. The next day, she left for a work trip, and I had to take care of everything. It was a disaster.
I overslept, rushed Danny through mismatched clothes, burnt toast, ruined a shirt while ironing, and set the kitchen on fire trying to cook. By the time I picked up Danny, the house was a mess. He quietly helped me clean, showing me everything Lucy had been doing all along.
Watching my son handle tasks I had ignored for years made me realize how wrong I had been. Lucy wasn’t just nagging—she was tired, and I had been blind to it.
The next evening, I joined Lucy and Danny in the kitchen, ready to help. It wasn’t just dinner; we were finally working together.
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