When I married my husband, I thought we were chasing the same dreams. I carried the entire household, believing I was supporting his work in his home office—until I uncovered what his “work” really was. For the past three years, I’d been married to Soren, a man who called himself “the busiest guy alive.” That’s how he explained locking himself in his office for hours.
But one day, I learned the truth about his “work,” and it changed everything between us. Soren always talked about “building our future,” a phrase he used so much it was practically his catchphrase. I believed him.
I wanted to. Isn’t that what love is? Standing by your partner, even when it’s tough?
To ease his stress, I took on everything else. I raised our two kids, kept the house running, and worked part-time to stretch our tight budget. But lately, it felt like everything was slipping away—our money, my peace of mind, and, worst of all, my trust in Soren.
Even though our bills were always late and money was tight, I trusted him when he said he was “this close” to a breakthrough. He spent his days shut in his sparse “office,” claiming he was in “big meetings” or “crunching numbers.”
I bent our whole lives around supporting him, keeping the kids quiet and timing my chores so I wouldn’t disturb him. Our days fell into a routine.
Soren would wake up early, grab breakfast with a quick “Got a huge meeting today,” and vanish into his so-called “command center.” He called it that like he was planning a world takeover. But for all his big talk, our bills stayed unpaid. Yesterday, though, everything changed.
It was a Wednesday, the kind of day that felt endless. The kids were home from school, stirring up extra chaos. Kael, my youngest, was racing around the dining table, our dog yipping happily along with him.
My older daughter, Nova, was practicing her handstands in the living room. Meanwhile, I scrubbed the kitchen counters, trying to keep things under control while staying as quiet as possible. “Shh!” I whispered to Kael as he zoomed by.
“Daddy’s working.”
“But Mommy,” he pouted, grabbing the dog’s collar, “Buddy wants to play!”
I sighed. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Soren had been in his office for hours.
At breakfast, he’d said, “I’ve got a critical meeting today. No interruptions.” I nodded, like always, though it stung. No interruptions had become our family’s unspoken rule.
As I cleaned the stove, my thoughts drifted. When was the last time Soren and I really talked? Not about money or the kids, but about us?
Something real? I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task. Then it happened.
Kael, chasing Buddy, startled me, and the frying pan I was holding slipped, crashing onto the tile floor with a noise so loud it made Nova yelp and Kael giggle. “Oops!” Kael laughed, covering his mouth. The next second, Soren stormed out of his office, face red, eyes burning.
“Can’t you keep it quiet for one minute?!” he shouted, making the kids freeze. “Do you know how embarrassing this is during a meeting?”
I gripped the counter, stunned. “Soren, I—”
He cut me off, his voice sharp with frustration.
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