No reason. I’m just coming over.”
I packed Alina into the car, still red-faced from her morning meltdown. I tossed the broken broom in the back.
And I drove. I pulled into the parking lot of Colden’s office with Alina crying in the back like I’d strapped her into a rocket instead of a car seat. She’d just soiled her diaper on the drive, and she wasn’t shy about letting me know how she felt.
Perfect. I wiped spit-up off my shirt, threw a burp cloth over my shoulder, grabbed the broken broom, and unbuckled the baby. “Alright, Alina,” I muttered.
“Let’s go say hi to Daddy.”
His office building was all glass and steel and fake smiles. I walked in with a red-faced baby in one arm and a jagged broom handle in the other. The receptionist blinked twice when she saw us.
“Can I help—?”
“I’m Maris, Colden’s wife,” I said, smiling wide. “He forgot something important at home.”
“Oh. Um.
Sure. He’s in a meeting, but you can go back.”
I walked past her desk like I owned the place. Alina started crying again just as I turned into the conference room.
There was Colden. Sitting at a long glass table with four coworkers, chuckling about something on a spreadsheet like he didn’t have a wife falling apart at home. He looked up.
His face went pale. “Babe—what are you doing here?” he said, standing up fast. I walked in and laid the two snapped broom pieces gently on the table in front of him.
“Honey,” I said, shifting Alina on my hip, “I tried using the broom like your mom did with her five kids. But it broke. Again.”
The room went silent.
Someone coughed. One guy stared at his laptop like it was the most interesting thing ever. I looked around and kept going.
“So,” I said calmly, “should I keep sweeping the carpet with my hands while holding your daughter? Or are you going to buy a new vacuum?”
Colden looked like he might faint. His eyes darted between me, the broom, and his coworkers.
His jaw opened and closed like he couldn’t pick which problem to fix first. “Can we talk outside?” he said, his voice sharp and low, already standing. “Of course,” I said with a smile.
He yanked the door closed behind us hard enough that the glass shook. “What was that?” he hissed. His face was bright red, all his calm corporate charm gone.
“That was me being resourceful,” I said. “Like your mom.”
“You embarrassed me!” he snapped, glancing toward the conference room. “That was a client pitch.
My boss was in there.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, tilting my head. “I thought you said this was part of the job. Housewife stuff.
What’s the problem? I’m just doing what you said.”
He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. “I get it, okay?
I messed up. I’ll get the vacuum today.”
“No need,” I said. “I already ordered one.
With your card.”
I turned and walked out, Alina still crying, broom handle still under my arm. Colden got home that night quieter than usual. He didn’t toss his shoes in the hallway.
Didn’t drop his keys on the counter like usual. Didn’t even look at the Xbox. I was on the couch feeding Alina.
The living room was dim except for the glow from a floor lamp and the soft hum of the white noise machine in the corner. He sat across from me, hands folded like he was waiting to be called to the principal’s office. “I talked to HR today,” he said.
I looked up slowly. “HR?”
He nodded, staring at the carpet like it had answers. “Yeah.
About our… situation. I said we were adjusting. Stress at home.
No sleep. You know.”
I blinked at him. “You mean, you told your job your wife embarrassed you because she’s tired and doesn’t have a vacuum?”
He rubbed his neck.
“That’s not what I said. I just… I didn’t mean to be dismissive, okay? I’ve got a lot going on too.”
I let a beat pass.
Alina made a soft grunt in her sleep. I didn’t yell. Didn’t raise my voice.
I just looked at him and said, calm as ever, “Colden, you’re either a husband and a father, or a roommate with a guilt complex. You decide.”
He opened his mouth like he might argue. Then closed it.
Just nodded slowly, lips pressed together like he was swallowing something bitter. The next morning, the yacht trip was canceled. He said the guys were “rescheduling,” but I didn’t ask.
Pretty sure “the guys” didn’t even know it was planned. That week, he vacuumed every rug in the house—twice. He looked like he was battling the dust bunnies.
Didn’t say a word about it. He changed three diapers without being asked. Took the 3 a.m.
bottle shift two nights in a row, even when Alina screamed in his face like she knew he was new at it. He paced the hallway with her until she passed out on his shoulder. He even took her for a walk Sunday morning so I could nap.
Left a sticky note on the bathroom mirror that said, “Sleep. I’ve got her.”
I didn’t gloat. Didn’t say “told you so.” Didn’t mention the office.
But the broken broom? Still sitting in the hallway, right where I left it. Just in case he forgets.
