I discovered my husband’s dark side when I got sick. He abandoned me and our baby because he didn’t want to be a good husband or father, so I played by his rules. But I won!
My husband, Drew, is 33 years old, and we have a six-month-old daughter named Sadie. But when I got sick, he treated everything like a minor inconvenience.
About a month ago, I came down with a terrible virus. Something close, but not COVID-19 or RSV. The worst part? Sadie had just recovered from a cold, so I was beyond exhausted.
I was sick, sleep-deprived, and taking care of a clingy baby recovering from her illness. Drew had started acting strangely even before I got sick.
He became distant.
For illustration: Always on his phone, laughing during private moments. When I asked what was so funny, he just shrugged and said, “Work stuff.”
One night, as I rocked Sadie and tried to hide a cough, my husband said, “You always look tired.”
Well, of course. “I’m raising a human,” I snapped.
I hoped he’d notice my struggle and step up. To be a partner.
I could barely sit up the night my fever hit 102.4°F. I looked at him and whispered, “Can you please take Sadie? Just 20 minutes. I need to lie down.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Can’t. Your coughing keeps me awake. NEED SLEEP. Thinking of staying at my parents’ for a few nights.”
For illustration, he didn’t even ask how Sadie would be cared for while I could barely function.
I texted him: “You’re really leaving me sick and alone with the baby?”
“You’re the mom. You handle this better than I do. I’d just get in the way. I’m exhausted and your cough is unbearable.”
FINE!
I made it through the weekend. Ate very little. After Sadie napped, I cried in the shower.
That’s when I made my decision.
I started planning. I figured if he didn’t mind leaving me sick and alone, I’d show him how that felt.
A week later, I texted:
“Hey babe. I’m feeling much better. You can come back.”
He responded instantly. “Thank God! Haven’t slept at all here. Mom’s dog snores and she keeps asking me to do yard work.”
Yard work. Sick baby. Think about that.
When he came back, everything seemed normal.
I made my move after a few minutes of calm.
“Hey,” I said sweetly, “can you hold Sadie for a second? I need to grab something upstairs.”
“Sure,”
For illustration, I came back five minutes later with my small suitcase and car keys. Sadie was babbling in his lap, smiling.
He blinked, confused. “What’s going on?”
“I booked myself a weekend at a spa,” I said calmly. “Massage, facial, room service. I need some rest.”
He sat up, stunned. “Wait, you’re leaving?”
“Yep. Just two nights. I’ve left instructions. She has toys, labeled bottles, diapers, and wipes. Emergency numbers are on the fridge. You’ve got plenty of supplies. I prepared everything for you—unlike what you did for me. And besides, you’re the dad. You’ve got this.”
He started, “Claire, I don’t know how to—”
I raised my hand. “No. Remember what you said last week? ‘You’re the mom. You handle this better than me.’ Now it’s your turn.”
And I left. I drove 45 minutes to a quiet inn with a spa and free chocolate chip cookies in the lobby.
That day, I ignored all his calls and texts.
Instead, I had a 90-minute massage, took a nap, read by the fireplace, got a manicure, and watched trashy reality shows in a fluffy robe. Pure bliss.
He called twice. Left a voicemail. Sounded a little panicked. Someone was trying to guilt-trip me.
“Claire, Sadie won’t nap. Your way of doing things is impossible. She spit up on me twice. Please call me.”
I didn’t. For illustration only.
I FaceTimed that evening because I missed my daughter and, unlike him, I loved her.
When I returned Sunday night, the house looked like a war zone! Toys everywhere.
Drew, exhausted and sheepish, looked at me like I was a goddess with superpowers.
“I get it now,” he murmured. “I really do.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He nodded. “I messed up.”
There was now a list. A schedule. Morning, night, groceries, laundry, bath care. His name was on half of it.
“You can’t check out anymore,” I told him. “I need a partner. Not a third child.”
He slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m in.”
Since then, he’s tried getting up when the baby cries at night, making bottles, and changing diapers!
I’m not naïve. I’m not forgiving him right away. Still watching. Still deciding.
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