My 6-Year-Old Asked Her Teacher, ‘Can Mommy Come to Donuts with Dad Instead? She Does All the Dad Stuff Anyway’

I carried titbits of information everywhere: on conference calls at home, in checkout lines at the grocery store, and even in my sleep.

Ryan didn’t mean to rely on me that way. He just… did.

And I let him. Because in the beginning, it made sense. He had to leave early to go to the office.

My job was remote. I was the default. The go-to.

The one who just “handled it.”

And whenever I brought it up? My husband would have the same rehearsed lines.

“I’ll help this weekend, I promise, Nancy.”

“Just remind me and I’ll do it, babe.”

“I don’t know how you keep all this stuff in your head.”

Neither did I. But I did it anyway.

Not because I had superpowers. Not because I enjoyed being stretched so thin. But because I loved our girl.

And I loved him.

Still, the cracks started to show. I’d lose track of a deadline, burn dinner, forget to RSVP for a birthday party… and instead of feeling human, I’d feel like I’d failed.

The resentment didn’t arrive in a storm.

The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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