My husband believed paying my mom to babysit our two children was a waste of money. “She should be grateful just to spend time with her grandkids,” he said. But when he fired her to “save money,” I decided to teach him a lesson in value — the hard way.
Money has a way of revealing people’s true colors. I learned this the hard way when my husband Miles showed me exactly who he was — not through his words, but through his actions toward my mother. The day he fired her from watching our kids, he didn’t just break her heart, he shattered my faith in him.
But sometimes, the best lessons come from letting someone experience exactly what they’ve taken for granted. Here’s how it all started… “We need another baby,” Miles said one evening, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he helped me load the dishwasher.
“Just imagine Evie with a little sister or brother. Don’t you want that for her?”
I placed the last plate in the rack, trying to ignore the way my stomach tightened at his words. “I’m happy with just Evie.
She’s perfect as she is.”
“Come on, Jenny.” He dried his hands and hugged me from behind. “I always dreamed of having a big family. Remember how lonely I was as an only child?” He reached for my hand.
“I promise I’ll help more. You won’t have to do it alone.”
“You say that now, but —”
“I mean it. Every diaper change, every late-night feeding…
I’ll be there. Trust me.”
“Like you were there last night when Evie had a fever?”
His face fell. “That was different.
I had the quarterly report due.”
“There’s always something, Miles.”
“This time will be different,” he insisted, pulling me close. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. I want us to give Evie the gift of a sibling.
Please?”
I should have known better than to believe him. Nine months later, Amber arrived, all pink cheeks and sleepless nights. Miles’s promises evaporated like morning dew, leaving me drowning in exhaustion.
“I have an early meeting,” he often mumbled, rolling over as Amber wailed at 3 a.m. “The presentation’s tomorrow… I really need to focus,” he’d say, while I juggled a fussy baby and a toddler demanding attention.
“Mommy, up!” Evie would plead, while I tried to breastfeed Amber and make dinner simultaneously. “Just a minute, sweetie,” became my constant refrain, guilt gnawing at me as I watched my firstborn’s face fall. My mother Wendy, bless her heart, saw me struggling.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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