I always thought housework was easy—just chores women exaggerated. That changed the day my wife left me alone with everything. I came home tired, as usual, dropped my keys, and collapsed onto the couch. Lucy and Danny were cooking in the kitchen when she asked me to set the table. I didn’t even look up from my phone.
“That’s your job,” I muttered. I made a stupid joke about turning Danny into a girl for helping her, not realizing how damaging my words were. Lucy didn’t argue; she just smiled in a way that told me I was missing something. That night, she told me she was going on a work trip, and I’d be in charge for a day. Confidently, I said it would be easy. But the next morning, chaos hit like a freight train—oversleeping, a grumpy kid, burnt toast, ketchup on my shirt, a confusing washing machine—and that was just the beginning…
