I broke my arm and asked my husband to help care for our 5-month-old twins, but he refused, telling me, “Moms don’t get sick days. You wanted kids, so you take care of them.” So I decided to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

“Can you get him?” I asked softly.

Mason checked his phone without moving. “I haven’t even changed yet.”

“I fell down the stairs yesterday,” I reminded him.

“He doesn’t care what you’re wearing,” Mason snapped back.

“Mason,” I pleaded.

“What?” he said. “I just got home.”

“So did you stop being their father in the driveway?” I asked.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “I just got home. I pay the bills.”

“And?” I pushed.

“And I’m not coming home to start another shift,” he said.

That word sat heavily between us. Another shift, like fatherhood was nothing more than unpaid overtime.

“I pay the bills,” he reiterated, as if that settled the matter.

“I need help for a few weeks,” I said calmly. “Come home an hour earlier when you can. Take a day if you have one. Ask if you can work from home sometimes.”