Before this, I was the reliable one.
I worked full time. I had savings. I planned ahead. I managed my life with confidence.
Now I needed help standing up. I could not wash my own hair. I could not lift my baby. Even holding her made me anxious, afraid one wrong movement would make things worse.
The first few days, Jake helped. He brought me frozen meals. He handed me Emma for feedings. He changed diapers, though he complained constantly.
I told myself to be grateful.
I did not feel like I had a choice.
The Birthday Conversation That Changed Everything
About a week later, Jake mentioned his upcoming birthday. I was sitting on the couch with an ice pack against my neck and a breast pump running when he walked in and said casually, “The guys are coming over Friday. Game night. I already told them.”
I stared at him, confused.
“I can’t host,” I said. “I can barely move my head.”
He shrugged. “It’s just snacks and some cleaning. You’re home anyway.”
Those words stung more than I expected.
“I’m not home for fun,” I said. “I’m injured. The doctor said I can’t bend or lift. I can’t even carry our daughter.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
I felt my hands start to shake. “I’m in pain all the time. I’m scared I’ll move wrong and make this worse.”
That was when his tone changed.
“If you don’t handle it,” he said, “don’t expect me to keep giving you money. I’m not paying for you to lie around.”
We had agreed I would take six months off. We had planned for it. It was supposed to be our money.
Suddenly, it was his.
And I was just someone he thought was doing nothing.
