Jo arrives home after a business trip to find it disorganized and disorderly. She is forced to go to her parents’ house in search of safety after her husband Brandon makes a remark during their welcome. Things appear to be better when she comes back. Will Brandon, however, take the lesson to heart and fulfill his role in their marriage?
I was completely taken aback when I walked through the door, the sound of my suitcase’s wheels resonating off the walls of the corridor.
Our living room appeared to have been struck by a tornado.
There were toys all over the place, dishes heaped in the sink, and what? An oxidized banana on the sofa?
My heart fell. After a demanding week filled with meetings all across the state, this was the last thing I needed.
All I wanted was to get back home to my own bed, my kids, and my spouse. to return home to a tidy house.
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I had given my husband, Brandon, clear instructions before I went for my trip.
I had even prepared meals for the entire week, organizing dinners and lunches. My goal was to make my husband’s life as simple as possible.
I had arranged the kids’ clothes according to day, so all Brandon needed to do in the morning was sort out the cereal and get them dressed. Before I departed, the laundry had also been finished.
Everything was in place for my spouse to take over without a hitch.
Nevertheless, I was simply confronted with regret when I arrived home, yearning for the coziness of the place I had left for a week.
Entering the kitchen was even more unpleasant. Used cups were piling up in the sink, and the fridge was almost empty save for a pack of beer and some bottles of sauce.
How could things have fallen apart so fast?
As I entered the mess, I heard the back door open and close; Brandon and the kids had been outside.
He said, “Honey!” and rushed to give me a hug. “I’m very happy to see you again! I’m going hungry.”
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His remarks felt like a slap in the face, and I responded to his greeting with silence.
He casually said, “You didn’t make enough food for the week, Jo.” “For the previous two evenings, I’ve had to feed the kids pizza. We’ve run out of milk, too. I also had to stop worrying about the house and concentrate on my career.”
That was the last straw.
The weariness and aggravation from months, no, years, of feeling overworked and underappreciated, finally boiled over.
“Not enough food?” In spite of how I was feeling on the inside, I inquired in an oddly calm voice. I was itching to yell.
I didn’t hold out for an answer. I didn’t even venture outdoors to visit Ava and Max, my children. I turned back and grabbed my still-packed luggage to head out.
“Brandon, I’m leaving. I won’t come back until this house is exactly how I left it. Spotless, well-kept, with clothes arranged and the refrigerator supplied. Alright?”
As I was leaving through the front door, Brandon gave me a confused, then worried, look, but he said nothing. He made no attempt to stop me. He didn’t give me a call back, promising to take care of the house while I had a bubble bath.
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He gave me permission to go.
I went straight to my parents’ house, the only place I had outgrown yet that still felt like a shelter.
My mother surprised me by opening the door before I could even knock, her smile changing to one of concern as she saw my teary face and the luggage following me.
“Jo, what in the world happened?” She pulled me int a tight embrace as she asked.
My childhood house was filled with the aroma of pot roast as soon as I walked inside. It was a house. It was this that I desired to enter.
not the disorder my spouse had allowed the house to descend into. I strolled into the familiar living room as my dad went into the hallway.
“You appear to have experienced a lot,” he remarked, grabbing my bag and giving me a hug.
I sank into the couch with a groan. The difference hurt much more because it was home, where everything was just the way it should be.
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“It might as well have been,” I answered, attempting to force a smile.
My mother insisted, “Tell us.”
I said, my voice trembling, “I left everything organized for Brandon,” summarizing the plans I had made prior to leaving. “Meals, kids’ schedules, clean clothes—everything he needed to just step in and take over for the week.”
My mother sat next to me and covered my face with her hand. Dad leaned forward, a developing frown replacing his usual joviality as his chair creaked.
“And when I returned today,” I said, my face flowing with angry tears. It seemed as though I had never invested so much time in planning. Nothing was in its proper place, the house was disorganized, and Brandon? In fact, he was dissatisfied with the lack of prepared food.”
“That’s ridiculous!” My dad had a voice that was remarkably crisp. “After everything you do?”
That evening, at my former workstation, I organized the monetary value of every assignment I had been secretly juggling. Even though I realized I might be going too far, I felt compelled to act that way.
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My spirit was weighed down completely. More than that, I felt bad for leaving the house before even trying to find my kids because of my emotions.
I knew I had to go back home the next day.
My mother responded, “You really do need to go home, honey,” while preparing breakfast. “The kids need to see you.”
There was hope in the air when I got home. Standing in the doorway, Brandon’s posture was tentative. With the vacuum left out in the open, I could see glimpses of an attempt to bring some order back into our house beyond him.
I was drawn in, though, by the sound of laughing coming from the backyard, which made my heart skip a beat.
They were in the back of the home as I strolled around to it. Having fun with a soccer ball are my kids.
The chaos of the previous twenty-four hours vanished for a minute when they were seen, acting so carefree and joyful. Max was the first to notice me as he sprinted across the grass on his short legs.
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He yelled, “Mommy!” and threw himself into my arms, with Ava chasing after him.
“Mum! You’ve returned!” she exclaimed.
I gave them both a hug and reveled in their intimacy.
I said, “I missed you guys so much,” with a lot of passion in my voice and a heavy heart full of guilt.
Brandon watched from the sidelines as we played in the backyard for the next thirty minutes. He was in the kitchen, washing dishes at the sink, as I could see.
I knew I ought to have gone to him and offered my assistance. or perhaps start our discussion. However, I desired to cherish the time I spent with my kids.
“Mom, can we get ice cream?” After some while, Ava enquired.
I told my kids we were going to grab ice cream before we went grocery shopping because I thought they deserved a treat.
“Go wash up,” I said to the children as I headed over to Brandon.
The envelope containing all the financial statements I had worked on the previous evening at my parents’ house was taken by me. I then moved it over the counter for him.
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As he took out the papers, his eyebrows knitted together, asking, “What’s this?”
I stated, “Read it,” in a forceful voice. “That’s a bill. For all that I do here that you don’t notice.”
His eyes grew wider with each line as he skimmed the document.
“This is a lot, Jo,” he remarked.
“Yes, it is,” I responded. “And it’s time that we rethink how we manage our home and respect each other, Brandon.”
He gave a nod.
I added, peering inside the refrigerator to make sure my husband hadn’t gone grocery shopping, “I’m taking the kids to the grocery store because we need food.”
He enquired, “Do you want me to come?”
“No,” I answered. “You can now conclude here. There’s definitely laundry to be done as well.”
I buckled the kids into the car and drove off when they were ready. Knowing that everything was in the open made me feel better. Although I was aware of Brandon’s depressed state, I couldn’t hold him accountable.
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I hauled the kids around the grocery store, enjoying their ice cream cones, almost pleased to be back to my usual.
The aroma of dinner seeped in to us as we entered through the door later, my arms weighed down with shopping bags.
Saying to Brandon as he stirred a pot of pasta, “You cooked,”
“Jo, I want to do more,” he declared. “Instead of just being someone to take care of the kids’ basic needs while you’re away, I want to be a part of their lives, just like you are. They didn’t even invite me to accompany them when you took them out now.”
I was aware that my hubby had at last realized his mistake.
He responded, “I just want to make life easier for you, too,” as he plated the spaghetti. “I’ll do better.”
It was precisely what I had hoped the day before: a clean house where we could all sit down to dinner together.
Now, I believe, things will be better.
How would you respond?
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