When Eric and I first married, I thought I’d struck gold. He was thoughtful, funny, and reliable when it came to things like groceries, car repairs, or yard work. But inside the house, everything somehow fell to me. I worked full-time running a marketing firm, yet I was also the one scrubbing floors, folding laundry, and cleaning bathrooms while Eric gamed for hours. At first, I excused it—love makes you justify things—but over time, resentment crept in.

When I became pregnant, I thought everything would change. For nine months, Eric was attentive and supportive. He built the crib, painted the nursery, and even brought me ginger tea when morning sickness hit hard. After Emma was born, he took two weeks off and proved he could be a wonderful father. For a brief moment, I believed parenthood had made us equals. But once he returned to work, things slipped back. I was left exhausted, caring for Emma and the house while he claimed he needed “decompression” with his Xbox.

The breaking point came when I caught the flu. Feverish and weak, I asked Eric to clean the bathroom and help with Emma. His response? “That’s women’s work. I’m not scrubbing toilets.”

I called my cousin Stacey, a housekeeper, and paid her to deep-clean the house. How? By selling Eric’s beloved Xbox online. When he came home, he marveled at the spotless rooms—until I told him how I’d paid for it.

He was stunned, speechless even. I packed Emma and left for two nights. When I returned, the house was tidy, the laundry done, and Eric humbled.

Sometimes, losing a console is the only way a man gains perspective.