I was caught completely off guard the moment I walked through the door, the sound of my luggage wheels echoing down the corridor.
The living room? It looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Dishes were piled high in the sink, toys scattered across the floor, and wait—what was that? A blackened banana sitting on the couch?
My stomach sank. After a grueling week of back-to-back meetings across the state, this was the last thing I needed.
All I wanted was to return home to the comfort of my bed, my spouse, my kids—a tidy home where things were as they should be.
Before I left, I’d made sure everything was in order. I had organized meals for the week, planned lunches, dinners, and even prepped dishes for Brandon to just heat up. I wanted to make his life as simple as possible while I was gone.
The kids' clothes were laid out by day, and all Brandon needed to do was make sure they ate breakfast and got dressed. The laundry was done, too. Everything was in place for a smooth week while I was away.
So when I walked into the chaos that had replaced my home, I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me. It was a slap in the face after all the careful planning.
Walking into the kitchen only made things worse. The fridge was nearly empty, save for a pack of beer and a few bottles of sauce. The sink was piled high with old mugs and dirty dishes.
How had it all fallen apart so quickly?
Brandon had been outside with the kids when I arrived, and I heard the back door open and close as he rushed in to greet me.
“Honey!” he called out, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so happy you’re back! I’m starving!”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut, and I stood there in stunned silence.
Brandon continued on, completely unaware of how his words were landing. “Jo, you didn’t prepare enough food for the week. We ran out of milk, and for the last two nights, I’ve had to feed the kids pizza. I had to stop worrying about the house and focus on my work.”
That was the last straw.
Months—no, years—of feeling overworked and unappreciated boiled over in a moment. The anger that had been building inside me for so long surged to the surface.
“Not enough food?” I asked, though my voice was calm. Too calm. Inside, I felt like I was about to explode.
I didn’t wait for him to answer. I didn’t even step outside to greet the kids. I grabbed my still-packed suitcase and turned to leave.
“Brandon,” I said through clenched teeth, “I’m going out, and I won’t return until this house is exactly how I left it—tidy, well-stocked fridge, laundry done, and clean. Understand?”
I left through the front door without another word. Brandon’s confused, then worried, expression was the last thing I saw as I walked away. He didn’t call after me or try to stop me. He just let me go.
I drove straight to my parents’ house, the one place where I could always find comfort. Even though I was an adult now, it still felt like a haven.
I hadn’t even knocked before my mom opened the door, her eyes going from astonished to concerned when she saw me standing there with my tear-streaked face and luggage in tow.
“What happened, Jo?” she asked, pulling me into a tight hug.
The familiar scent of pot roast filled the air as I stepped inside, and for the first time in a week, I felt a sense of peace. This was a home. Not the chaos I had just left behind.
I made my way into the living room, and my dad appeared in the hallway, offering me a warm hug as he took my suitcase.
“You look like you’ve been through a storm,” he remarked, his tone gentle but concerned.
I sank into the couch with a groan. The contrast between the calm order of my parents' house and the disaster I had left behind was like night and day.
“I might as well have been,” I muttered, attempting a smile.
“Tell us what happened,” my mom insisted, sitting next to me and covering my hand with hers. My dad, who was usually the life of the party, was silent now, his expression serious.
I took a deep breath and began to explain, shaking slightly as I relived the frustration of the past hour. “I left everything in order for Brandon. I had planned meals, laid out clothes for the kids, even organized their schedule for the week. I did everything I could to make things as easy as possible for him.”
I looked down at my lap, feeling the weight of the injustice. “And when I came home today… It was like I never planned at all. The house was a mess, the food was gone, and Brandon? He had the nerve to tell me I didn’t prepare enough food.”
“That’s ridiculous!” my dad burst out, his voice sharp. “After all that you do, Jo?”
I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. I didn’t know how much more I could take.
Later that evening, sitting at my old desk, I started to list everything I did on a financial equivalent scale—cooking, cleaning, scheduling, shopping, managing everything for the kids. It felt extreme, but something inside me needed to show him how much I was doing.
I felt drained, emotionally and physically. Worse yet, I felt guilty for leaving the house without seeing the kids, for not even attempting to work things out with Brandon before I walked out.
“You have to go home, honey,” my mom said gently as she made breakfast the next morning. “The kids need you.”
Her words settled in my mind. She was right. I had to face what was waiting for me at home.
When I returned, there was a palpable sense of optimism in the air. Brandon stood uncertainly in the doorway, and the vacuum cleaner was out, a half-hearted attempt to restore order. But what really pulled at my heart was the sound of laughter coming from the backyard.
I walked outside and saw Max and Ava kicking a soccer ball around, their faces bright with joy. The chaos of the previous day was momentarily forgotten as I watched them.
Max saw me first and, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, yelled, “Mommy!” He threw himself into my arms, and Ava followed close behind, squealing with excitement.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as I held them close.
Brandon watched us from the sidelines, his eyes thoughtful. I could see him in the kitchen, washing dishes, but I didn’t want to break this moment with him. I wanted to savor my time with my children.
After a while, Ava asked, “Can we have ice cream, Mom?”
I promised them a treat before we went grocery shopping, and told them to wash up while I spoke with Brandon.
I grabbed the envelope I had prepared the night before at my parents’ house and slid it across the counter to him.
He looked at it, confused. “What’s this?”
“Read it,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “It’s a bill. For everything I do around here that you don’t see.”
His eyes widened as he scanned the document. “This is a lot, Jo.”
“It is,” I replied. “And it’s time for us to start respecting each other and rethinking how we run this house.”
He nodded, his expression serious.
“We need food,” I continued. “So I’m taking the kids to the store. Are you coming with me?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I think I’ll stay here. You go ahead.”
I took the kids to the store, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders now that everything was out in the open. I wasn’t responsible for his sadness anymore.
When we returned, the smell of dinner filled the house, and I walked into the kitchen to find Brandon stirring a pot of noodles.
“You cooked?” I asked, surprised.
“I want to do more,” he said. “I want to be part of their lives, not just take care of their basic needs when you’re gone. I feel like I missed out when you took them out earlier today.”
I could see that he was sincere, and for the first time in a long time, I believed him.
As he plated the spaghetti, he added, “I just want to make life easier for you, too. I’ll do better.”
The house was now spotless, just as I had hoped. We sat down to eat together, and I felt a glimmer of hope that things were finally moving in the right direction.
Maybe, just maybe, things would be better now.