When my husband begged for a son, he promised that he’d be the one to stay home and raise him, allowing me to continue pursuing my career. But the moment our baby arrived, his perspective shifted, and he began pressuring me to give up everything I had worked so hard for.
When I married Nick, I thought I knew exactly who I was committing to. We had been together for five years, and those years were filled with laughter, occasional disagreements, and a strong sense that we were a solid team. Nick was charming, funny, and had the ability to light up any room. He worked in marketing—a steady job, though not his dream career. I, on the other hand, was an attorney, not just any attorney, but one who had worked my way up in a top law firm, handling high-profile cases and earning more than Nick ever had.
And that was fine. We didn’t mind.
Nick’s only real passion was having a son. “I can already picture it,” he would say, a grin spreading across his face. “Teaching him baseball, fixing cars, giving him all the things I never had.”
It was his dream, and while I wasn’t opposed to having kids, I wasn’t in any rush. My career was everything to me, and I wasn’t ready to put it on the backburner.
But Nick never pressured me. In fact, he made the biggest promise of all: “When we have our boy, I’ll stay home with him. You’ve worked too hard to give this up. I’ll take on the dad role full-time.”
I remember looking at him, touched. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “I want to be there for him every day. You? You keep doing what you do. We’ll make the perfect team.”
I believed him.
So we started trying, and after two years, the pink lines appeared. Nick was ecstatic. “A boy! I just know it!” he exclaimed, lifting me off the ground and spinning me around.
When the doctor confirmed it, Nick went into full “dad mode.” He told everyone—his parents, his coworkers, even strangers. “I’m gonna be a stay-at-home dad!” he’d proudly declare. “Best job in the world.”
Pregnancy wasn’t easy, but Nick’s excitement made it a bit easier. We decorated the nursery together, read baby books, and one night, he even practiced swaddling a stuffed bear—he was determined to get it right. When the day finally arrived, I thought, This is it. This is what we planned. But things started changing.
The first week with our newborn was a blur. I was exhausted, but I kept reminding myself, Nick’s got this. We’re a team.
But then the excuses began. Each night, the baby would cry, and Nick would hesitate. If I didn’t immediately pick him up, Nick would sigh, “I think he needs you more than me.”
It carried over into the daytime too. “Can you change him? I just sat down.” “Can you take over? He’s fussy, and I have a headache.”
I was drowning—trying to juggle work emails while breastfeeding—and still, I told myself, he’s just adjusting. But one night, everything changed.
I was sitting on the couch, nursing our son with one arm while typing an email with the other. A partner at the firm had a question about a case. Nick walked in, leaned against the doorframe, and casually said, “Honestly, I’ve been thinking… maybe you should quit your job and stay home with him full-time.”
I laughed, thinking he was joking.
But when I looked up, he was smirking. “Come on,” he said, “You didn’t really think I was serious about staying home, did you? All moms stay home. I figured it would just kick in—your natural instinct or whatever.”
I froze, a chill running down my spine.
“Nick,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “Do you remember what you promised me? You said I wouldn’t have to give up my career. You promised you’d stay home with him.”
“Plans change,” he muttered.
“No,” I shot back. “You changed.”
He shrugged. “I just thought… once the baby was here, you’d feel differently.”
“Feel differently?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Nick, I built my career from scratch. You knew that. You promised it wouldn’t change.”
He shook his head. “Look, I just think the baby needs you more. It’s selfish for a mother to put work before her child.”
That word—selfish—hit me like a slap. I couldn’t breathe.
“Selfish?” I repeated, shocked.
He threw his hands up. “You know what I mean.”
I clenched my jaw, gripping the table so tightly it hurt. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll quit my career.”
Nick’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “Really?”
“Yep,” I said, my smile sharp. “But there’s one condition.”
He leaned in, expecting something minor, an easy concession.
“The day I quit is the same day we file for divorce.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
I took a sip of my coffee, letting my words sink in. “If I quit, I’ll never respect you again. You broke your promise. You promised to stay home, and now you’re pressuring me to do it. So, I’ll leave my job, but you’ll pay child support based on my full salary, and I’ll have full custody. I refuse to raise my son with someone who doesn’t keep his word.”
He blinked, speechless.
That night, he packed a bag and went to his parents’ house. I wasn’t bothered.
The next day, I got a call from Nick’s mom. “Honey, we’re on your side,” she said.
“Excuse me?” I asked, taken aback.
Nick’s dad’s voice rumbled in the background. “He made a promise. He doesn’t get to back out just because it’s hard. That woman worked hard for her career, and now he thinks he can just take it away? He told everyone he’d stay home. Everyone.”
I smiled to myself, a strange sense of satisfaction washing over me.
A few days later, Nick came back. He looked different—quieter. He sat across from me, his hands fidgeting.
“I was scared,” he said, his voice low. “I thought I could do it, but when it got hard, I panicked. I tried to push it onto you because I thought it would be easier.”
“Yeah?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Easier for who?”
He exhaled. “For me.”
Finally, some honesty.
“I was wrong,” he admitted. “I see that now. And I’m sorry. I want to make it right.”
We sat down and established new rules. I kept my career. Nick stepped up—he did night feedings, cooked meals, and took care of the baby. We hired a part-time nanny for my longer workdays.
Months later, Nick became the father he always claimed he wanted to be.
Is it perfect? No. But it’s real.
And sometimes, when things get tough, I remind him, “I was serious about the divorce, you know.”
Nick grins. “Yeah, and I’m never risking that again.”
Lesson learned: Never break your promises—especially to a lawyer.
