That sentence stayed with me.
Because he was right.
I always did.
Not because I wanted to.
Not because I enjoyed it.
But because if I didn’t, nobody would.
And somewhere along the way, Ryan stopped seeing my cleaning as something I was doing.
He started seeing it as something I was supposed to do.
There was a difference.
A very painful difference.
Then came the Friday night that changed everything.
I had had an especially difficult day at work.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was so exhausted that I sat in my car for several minutes without moving.
My hands were still on the steering wheel.
I remember looking at the front door and thinking, I don’t even have the energy to walk inside.
Eventually, I forced myself out of the car.
I opened the front door.
And my heart sank.
Pizza boxes were scattered across the living room.
Dirty glasses covered the coffee table.
Clothes were lying on the floor.
The kitchen sink was overflowing with dishes.
There were crumbs everywhere.
And when I walked into our bedroom, I saw it.
His wet towel.
Right across my pillow.
Ryan was sitting on the couch with his phone in his hand, laughing at a video.
