I spent thirteen years married to Derek, who considered taking out the trash a sacrifice.
“Can you watch Lucy while I make dinner?” I’d ask.
“Football’s on.”
“Could you pick Mason up after practice?”
“I’ve got plans.”
His answer never changed.
I filed for divorce two months later.
“Raising kids and taking care of the house is women’s work.”
Harper stood in the hallway.
She looked down at the laundry basket she was carrying and quietly put it back.
I filed for divorce two months later.
The house belonged to me before our marriage. When Derek moved in with his mother, Linda, she blamed me.
“Men need time to themselves.”
“You’ve embarrassed him,” she told me.
“I asked him to parent his children.”
“Men need time to themselves.”
“So do women.”
She hung up.
Our divorce was finalized in September. I received primary custody, while Derek had scheduled parenting time.
