I didn’t ask Derek to do it all. I asked him to help sometimes. To come home two hours early occasionally. To take the odd day. The bare minimum a partner offers an injured partner, and he refused it, with contempt, and told me I did nothing. So I decided, calmly, to show him the price of nothing.
Because here is the thing about invisible labor: it’s only invisible until someone puts a number on it. And I can put a number on it, because every single thing I do all day is a job that someone, somewhere, gets paid to do.
Chapter 3: The Invoice
I did not do anything spiteful. I want to be clear, because “wife hires staff to spite husband” is the wrong frame. I did the most reasonable thing in the world: I had a broken arm, I could not physically do the work, my husband refused to help, and so I paid people to do the work that had to be done, out of the money that belonged to both of us.
And then I showed him what it cost.
I sat down — one-handed, it took a while — and I itemized it. Not vaguely. Precisely. What a night nurse charges for overnight infant care, times the nights. What a full-time nanny for twins costs. What a housekeeper costs for the cleaning. What meal prep costs. What a mother’s helper costs for the daylight hours. I used real local rates, the actual market price of each task, and I added it up by the month, and the number was staggering, because the work is staggering, and it had been staggering the whole time, and Derek had simply never had to see it with a dollar sign attached.
