I’m 30, married to Drew, who’s 33, and we have a six-month-old daughter named Sadie. She’s the light of my life, but when I got sick, Drew’s response was anything but supportive.
A month ago, I caught a brutal virus—body aches, chills, and a painful cough. To make it worse, Sadie had just recovered from her own cold, so I was already exhausted. Drew had been distant for weeks, constantly on his phone, snapping at me over small things, and barely acknowledging my exhaustion.
One night, when my fever hit 102.4, I asked him to take care of Sadie for a bit so I could rest. Instead, he packed a bag, kissed Sadie, and left to stay with his mom. I couldn’t believe it—he abandoned me when I was sick, alone with our baby.
I struggled through the weekend, barely eating, crying in the shower, and caring for Sadie on my own. Drew didn’t check in once. By the time I felt better, I was ready for payback.
A week later, I texted him saying I was feeling better and he could come home. He was relieved, complaining about his mom’s dog and yard work. When he arrived, everything was “normal,” and he settled in like nothing had happened.
I hit him with my plan: I was going to a spa for the weekend. I had everything ready for him—Sadie’s bottles, diapers, instructions. He was shocked, but I reminded him of his words: “You’re the mom. You handle this better than me.”
I left him with Sadie for two nights while I enjoyed some much-needed rest. He called twice, leaving panicked voicemails, but I didn’t respond. On Sunday, I came home to chaos—dirty bottles, unwashed clothes, and Drew looking like he’d aged years.
“I get it now,” he said, exhausted and ashamed. I handed him a list of duties for him to share in the parenting. “You don’t get to tap out anymore,” I told him.
Since then, Drew’s been trying harder—helping with the night feeds, making bottles, and even changing diapers without gagging. I’m not quick to forgive, but he knows now: I’m not someone you leave behind when things get tough.
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