I believed my wife gave up her career to focus on our kids. But when our daughter said she saw her speaking on a stranger’s computer at school, I started to realize there was a whole side of her life she had never told me about. I’m 35.
Married to Elowen for 14 years. We’ve got two kids—Callum’s nine, Marnie’s seven. We used to both work full time.
I’m in logistics. Elowen did accounting. It wasn’t easy, but I thought we had it figured out.
Then everything shifted. And then one day, Marnie came home and said, “Daddy, I saw Mommy on that man’s computer at school.”
Back when we were both working, life was hectic. Real hectic.
I’d be up first, packing lunches, dragging the kids out of bed. Elowen always needed extra time in the mornings. She moved slow before coffee.
Most nights, dinner was rushed. Homework was a fight. We were exhausted.
Still, I showed up—late meetings or not. She was always talking about needing “balance.”
One night, she came into the room, wrapped in a towel, hair still wet. She looked pale.
Tired. “I think I’m burned out,” she said. “Everything’s too much.”
I set my phone down.
“What’s going on now?”
“Work. Life. All of it.”
I sighed.
“We all feel that way, El.”
She paused. “I’ve been thinking about quitting.”
I blinked. “Your job?”
“Yeah.
Just… being home. With the kids. Maybe for a while.”
I didn’t answer right away.
I knew better. So I said, “Well. The kids could really use that.
Honestly, it might be the best thing—for them.”
She looked at me. “You think so?”
“I mean, daycare costs are insane. And you’ve been saying you need a break.”
She nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I just thought you’d be upset.”
“Why would I be upset?” I said, smiling. “You’d be doing what matters most.”
She smiled too.
But it looked unsure. Truth is, I was glad. I needed someone home to keep things in order.
It made sense. She was better at that kind of thing. And honestly?
I was tired of hearing her complain about spreadsheets and taxes. After she quit, I made changes. I picked up more hours.
Cut back on stuff—coffee, gym, poker nights. I didn’t say much about it. Just did what I had to do.
I figured she’d notice. I’d say things like, “Guess it’s leftovers again” or “Had to skip the guys’ night. Can’t really spend money like we used to.”
She’d nod, quiet.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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