“When I Broke My Leg, My Husband Left Me Home Alone With Our Three Babies and Said, ‘I’M NOT YOUR SERVANT! YOU’RE THEIR MOTHER, SO DEAL WITH IT!’ But the Next Evening, When He Came Home and Saw Who Was Sitting Beside Me, He Turned Pale and Screamed, ‘WHO BROUGHT HER HERE?!’”

He accused her of interfering and cut her out of his life.

“I wasn’t trying to control you,” Patricia whispered. “I was terrified you’d become like your father.”

Michael sank onto the floor.

“I hated him for leaving you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And now I’ve done almost the same thing.”

For the first time, I saw genuine shame in his eyes.

He turned toward me.

“Emily, I’m sorry.”

But I couldn’t forgive him immediately.

“Michael, I’ve spent five months barely sleeping. I’ve fed our babies, cleaned, cooked, and carried everything alone. Even after I broke my leg, you acted as though none of it mattered.”

He stared at my exhausted face and dry, irritated hands.

“I didn’t realize how much you were doing.”

“You didn’t want to realize,” I replied.

He couldn’t argue.

Patricia sat beside me and gently squeezed my hand.