When our children were ill with fevers the day before our long-awaited family vacation to the beach, I was concerned that we would have to either cancel or at the very least postpone our trip. In its place, my spouse made the decision to go without us. The thing that he was unaware of was the fact that his little vacation for “me time” was going to end up costing him a lot more than he had anticipated.
As a nurse, I am. Mark, my husband, is a real estate agent. On the surface, it could seem that we have a picture-perfect life: we have two lovely children, a cozy house, and occupations that allow us to pay our expenses. Through social media, you can get the impression that we are the pair that has everything under control. On the other hand, lurking behind those happy photographs is a marriage that has been slowly but surely disintegrating due to the selfishness of one partner.
Who is that individual? It is Mark.
Permit me to take a step back. The hospital ward where I work is a high-pressure environment. I spend my days dealing with crises, which leaves me psychologically and physically exhausted. I work twelve-hour shifts on my feet, and I often do not get a good lunch break. In my experience, burnout is not only a keyword; rather, it is an ever-present shadow.
Mark, on the other hand, will spend his workdays driving about in a gleaming black SUV showing off expensive residences. When you hear him speak about it, you could get the impression that he is personally responsible for maintaining the stability of the economy. The cancellation of a screening by a customer is comparable to a personal tragedy. As soon as he arrives at his house, he immediately drops on the sofa, lets out a deep sigh, and behaves as if he has just returned from a combat.
In spite of this, the tale is not about contrasting different workloads. It pertains to the week before our trip, more precisely the day before we were meant to depart for the beach for our weekend getaway.
In anticipation, we had planned this vacation for a period of six months. It was supposed to be a vacation for the whole family, a chance to unwind, catch up with each other, and just take pleasure in being together without any responsibilities, deadlines, or alarms.
However, life had other things in store for us.
One morning, our daughter Sophie, who was four years old at the time, awoke with her face hot and her eyes blurry. Even her younger brother, Jake, who was just two years old at the time, was not far behind; both of them were experiencing fevers of 102 degrees, runny noses, and vomiting up every couple of hours.
Immediately, the nurse that I am began to take over. I retrieved the thermometer, grabbed buckets and towels, dressed them in clean jammies, and began administering fluids while simultaneously making a phone call to the pediatrician’s office to inquire about their recommendations. Within the span of an hour, my living room had the appearance of a little urgent care clinic.
The contribution that Mark has made to this growing chaos? While he was sitting at the kitchen counter, he was simultaneously drinking coffee and looking through his phone as if nothing out of the norm was taking place.
“Mark,” I continued, “it’s possible that we will have to cancel the trip.” “There is no way that they are capable of coping with a five-hour drive at this time.”
When he glanced up, he seemed surprised, as if I had just recommended that we set fire to the home.
While he was wiping cream cheese from his lip, he said in a monotone tone, “I’m still traveling.” “I am in desperate need of this vacation, Ava. “You have no idea how stressed I’ve been,” she pointed out.
I was attracted to him. “As you are aware, I also have a job. Moreover, the children are ill. They need both of us to be present.
In reality, he had the audacity to laugh at her.
“In any case, you are more skilled in the medical procedures. I’d simply be a nuisance to everything.”
Right at that moment, something inside me broke. The trip was not the only item on the agenda. Specifically, it was about every late night that I had spent by myself with ill children while he went to dinners for career networking. While he “recharged” at the gym on Saturday mornings, I would take care of the laundry and make trips to the grocery store. Every moment of silence in which I had to swallow my irritation since fighting seemed more taxing than the actual labor itself.
Mark handled the packing of his bag as if it were nothing special. After kissing me on the cheek, he hired an Uber to take me to the airport, and then he left me standing there with two children who were sick with fever, a mountain of laundry, and a wrath that was so intense that it seemed almost like it was purifying.
But I wasn’t going to simply weep in the bathroom and get over it this time. I was going to do something more.
During the time when Mark was relaxing at a five-star resort and sharing Instagram stories about mimosas by the pool and sunsets with the caption “Well-deserved break,” I was cleaning my children’s foreheads, changing their linens, and trying to get them to drink electrolyte drinks. On the other hand, my mind was always active while I was rocking Jake to sleep or comforting Sophie after she had passed another round of vomiting.
It seemed to Mark that he had been given the better part of the bargain. On the other hand, he had overlooked a very significant fact: I am the one who is responsible for managing all of our home accounts, responsibilities, and passwords. In both the actual and digital realms, I am completely aware of the location of everything.
I walked into the garage, which happened to be Mark’s holy spot, the day after he had departed, after the children had finally fallen asleep. His “toys” were the subject of his attention and he would spend hours here tweaking, cleaning, and worrying over them. One of his greatest accomplishments, a sparkling Harley-Davidson motorcycle that he had spent two years refurbishing, was parked there.
I refrained from touching the Harley. For the purpose of destruction, I do not engage in harmful behavior. I did, however, unlock his beloved toolbox, which was secured by a password. What is the password? I am “M4RK_K1NG.” Almost laughed out loud.
Inside was his socket set, which had been precisely organized, with each component exquisitely positioned as if it were a museum exhibit. I cleaned the whole set of tools by removing them all and placing them in the dishwasher. I put it on the warmest cycle that was available, with an additional drying heat setting. As soon as they emerged from the room, the metal had already been bent, the shiny gloss had become dull, and a thin coating of rust had already begun to surface.
Afterwards, I made my way upstairs to his “lucky blazer,” which is the jacket that he insisted on wearing at important closings. Taking it to the dry cleaners was something I did, along with taking my bright red nursing scrubs. When it was brought back, the blazer that had been charcoal in color had changed to a dusty rose color. To tell you the truth, it looked much better than it had before, but I knew that he would never wear it again.
And yet, I was not finished.
I share accounts with Mark for a number of other applications and services, including his membership to the gym, his ticket to the car wash, and even his Spotify account. I canceled each and every one of them. In addition to that, I went into his Spotify playlists and changed all of the tunes to Barney songs and Peppa Pig soundtracks. I then proceeded to create an alarm on his phone that would go off at five o’clock every morning, with the caption “Your wife deserves a break.”
I was able to plan my own vacation, which was the crowning achievement of my career.
As soon as Sophie and Jake were no longer experiencing fever and were feeling better, I made a reservation for a weekend stay at a five-star hotel located in the next town. Cabanas, a full-service spa, and a stunning pool were all features of this establishment. To make matters even better, they provided a playroom for children that was monitored and furnished with games, books, and toys.
We had a wonderful time for three days, during which we ate pancakes in bed, went swimming in the pool, and watched movies till the wee hours of the morning. While the children were engaged in making crafts with other youngsters, I had a massage. I shared photographs of everything, marking Mark in each and every one of them.
“We are at last receiving the break that we have earned.”
When Mark returned home four days later, he was tan and smug, and he expected to find us waiting for him. Instead, he went into a house that was deserted and disturbingly silent. While he was in the garage, his tools became uneven. It was an unwearable hue of pink, yet his favorite jacket was that color. Through his Spotify account, the song “I Love You, You Love Me” was playing over and over again.
And my letter was posted on the refrigerator:
I’ve left to take pleasure in the vacation you neglected. The children are doing well at this time. Alternately, you may try using a thermometer instead of a one-way ticket the next time. ” – Ava”
At the time that I returned from our holiday, he was already there, sitting at the kitchen table in complete silence.
The man did not shout. No excuses were offered by him. Simply put, he seemed to be… diminutive.
On that particular evening, he shed tears. He admitted to me that he had been self-centered. That I had been taken for granted by him. That until he went into a home that was completely quiet and felt the loss of his family, he had not properly grasped what it meant to be the “default parent.”
I have no idea what the future holds for our marriage at this point. It is possible that this was the tipping moment. Perhaps that was a defining moment in times.
However, there is one thing that I am certain of: Mark will never forget the lesson that I gave him.
