A tired woman at home ⏐ Source: Pexels
Every dollar I saved was another step closer to my dream — a real home. A place where I could finally breathe, where my kids could run in a backyard instead of playing in a cramped living room.
Jack, my husband, was supposed to help. That was our deal. I worked, and he took care of the house. Cooking, cleaning, watching the kids.
But Jack didn’t do any of that.
A man sleeping in his living room ⏐ Source: Pexels
Most days, I’d come home to dirty dishes, toys everywhere, and Jack on the couch, controller in hand. The PlayStation was his real job. He could spend hours strategizing for a virtual battle but couldn’t load a dishwasher.
“Babe, just five more minutes,” he’d say, eyes glued to the screen.
A man watching TV ⏐ Source: Pexels
Five minutes turned into hours. So I did it all. Worked all day. Cleaned all night. Hired a nanny with my own money because someone had to pick up the kids.
