My husband anticipated to enter our front door as if nothing had happened when he got back from his week-long trip. Instead, he discovered a person with a furious face and a bright yellow bag obstructing his path. Every tear I shed was worth it when I saw the terrified expression on his face.
In hindsight, I should have recognized Jason’s character issues long before we were married.
He had always been the kind of person who prioritized his friends and offered justifications when things were difficult.
I dismissed it as him being youthful and carefree when we were dating. I convinced myself that he would change after marriage and mature as a result of responsibilities.
Jason seemed different for a bit after we were engaged. He spoke excitedly about our future and made all the necessary commitments to be a wonderful husband.
“We’re going to be such a great team, Claudia,” he would say while he held my hands and gazed into my eyes. “I can’t wait to build a life with you.”
I had full faith in him. I wanted to think he was real.
Eight months after our wedding, Jason was ecstatic when I became pregnant. I thought maybe this was it because hubby took the time to carefully assemble the cot and paint the nursery a gentle shade of yellow on the weekends. Perhaps he would finally be the responsible man I had always hoped for if he became a father.
“This baby is going to have the best daddy in the world,” he would say at night to my expanding womb. He discussed everything he wanted to educate our child while reading parenting literature. Seeing how excitedly he prepared for fatherhood throughout those months filled me with hope.
Then reality set in.
At 37 weeks, my pregnancy took a bad turn. When problems emerged, what was intended to be a vaginal birth turned into an emergency C-section.
Thanks to the speedy efforts of the doctors, our lovely daughter Emma was born healthy. However, I was weak, sore, and totally reliant on other people to do even the most basic things after the surgery.
Jason had reassured me, “Don’t worry, babe,” while I lay in the hospital bed, still feeling dazed from the anesthesia. “I’m going to take such good care of you and Emma when we get home. You just focus on healing, okay?”
Sleepless nights, difficult incision care, and learning how to nurse characterized those first few days at home.
Jason offered some assistance, but it was obvious that he was uneasy and overwhelmed.
He never took the initiative, but he did change his diapers when I asked him to. When Emma was calm, he would hold her, but as soon as she began to cry, he would return her to me.
The phrase “I think she wants her mommy” became his go-to response in difficult situations.
I was really worn out by the fourth week. I could hardly move from the bedroom to the kitchen without squirming since my incision was still healing.
Jason stated the most surprising thing ever at that point.
One morning, Jason said nonchalantly, “So, Tom got that promotion he’s been working toward,” without even raising his head from his phone. “The guys want to celebrate with a weeklong trip to the beach. It sounds amazing.”
I waited for the joke while I looked at him. My heart skipped a beat when none arrived.
I remarked, “That’s nice for Tom,” with caution. “When are they planning to go?”
“Next week. It’s perfect timing because Tom can finally afford to splurge on a nice resort. It’s going to be fun!”
“Jason,” I whispered softly, “you’re not seriously thinking about going, are you?”
When he eventually raised his head, I could immediately see the defensive look taking shape. “Why wouldn’t I go? It’s just a week. Tom’s my best friend, and this is a big deal for him.”
I had the impression that I was in a bad dream. “Because your wife just had major surgery four weeks ago? Because I can barely walk to the mailbox without pain? Because we have a newborn who needs both of her parents?”
Jason sighed as if I were being crazy and put down his phone.
“Babe, you’re doing great with Emma. And my mom said she could help out if you need anything. It’s only seven days.”
My voice was growing louder, but I was unable to control myself. “Your mom lives an hour away, Jason. And I shouldn’t need help because my husband should be here.” “I can’t even lift anything heavier than the baby. I can’t drive yet. How is this even a question?”
Jason got up and began to pace, saying, “Look, I’ve been stressed too, okay?” “This whole new parent thing is overwhelming for both of us. Maybe a little break would be good for everyone.”
A rest? Did he desire a vacation from his wife, who was barely able to care for herself, and their four-week-old daughter?
“Fine,” I replied. “Go. Have your vacation.”
Jason’s expression brightened as if he had won the lottery. “Really? You’re okay with it?”
It didn’t sit well with me. It would never be acceptable to me. However, I was also aware that continuing to argue would simply paint me as the antagonist in his tale.
As if nothing had happened, he planted a kiss on my forehead. “You’re the best, Claudia. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, I promise.”
The following morning, as I stood there with our sobbing daughter, I watched from the window as my husband’s Uber drove away, carrying him to the airport.
I had the longest seven days of my life during the week Jason was gone.
I awoke every morning with the hope that it was all a nightmare and that my husband hadn’t truly deserted me at my most vulnerable moment. Emma would weep, though, and reality would hit me hard once more.
The initial days were tough. Emma wanted to nurse all the time because she was going through a growth spurt.
Hours passed while I stayed in the same chair, terrified to move due to the pain.
There weren’t many texts from Jason. With a picture of him and Tom enjoying beers on the beach, the caption, “Having a great time! Weather is perfect!” appeared.
“Best seafood ever!” was the description for a photo of a nice dinner that was posted another day.
As Emma wailed in my arms and my shirt was splattered with spit, I gazed at those pictures and wondered how he could be so cut off from the events at home.
I was running on adrenaline and desperation on the fifth day.
I had made two calls to Margaret, his mother, but I felt bad about asking for assistance. This wasn’t her job; she was too busy with her own life. Her son was in charge of everything, and he had put his beach holiday ahead of his family.
Emma getting a small temperature on day six was the worst part. In a panic, I dialed the pediatrician. I felt very afraid and alone, even though the nurse explained what to look out for.
I made three calls to Jason that evening. None of them received an answer from him.
It was time for him to return home at last.
He had left his flight information on the kitchen counter as an afterthought, so I knew it. When you haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time for seven days, it’s almost hard to look presentable, so I spent the morning trying.
I still harbored the hope that Jason might enter the room repentant and prepared to make amends.
At 3 p.m., I heard the automobile in the driveway.
I was watching through the window when my heart began to race. In stark contrast to the weary, stressed-out woman who had been waiting for him, Jason emerged from the Uber looking comfortable and tanned.
However, something caught my attention and caused me to pause. Another vehicle was parked in my driveway. Margaret owned it.
There she was, standing on my front doorstep, her face wearing the most determined look I had ever seen. As if she intended to remain for a while, a bright yellow luggage was sitting next to her.
Jason smiled as he walked toward the front entrance, but his face turned white the instant he noticed his mother in the way.
Jason’s voice cracked like an adolescent once more when he asked, “Mom?” “What are you doing here?”
Margaret put her feet firmly down and crossed her arms. “You’re not coming into this house until we have a serious conversation, Jason.”
Jason stepped back, his self-assured vacation glow quickly vanishing.
Jason looked about anxiously, as though the neighbors may be observing this altercation, and said, “Mom, don’t do this. Not here.”
The words “Oh, I’m absolutely doing this here,” were spoken by Margaret. “You left your wife, who just had major surgery, alone with a newborn baby for an entire week so you could play beach volleyball with your buddies. Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?”
Tears began to well up in my eyes as I stood holding Emma just inside the front door. It had been a long time since someone had defended me in this way.
“It wasn’t dangerous,” Jason muttered. “Claudia is fine. The baby is fine. Everything worked out.”
Margaret’s voice reached a level I had never heard before, “Everything worked out?” “Jason, your wife called me twice this week because she was overwhelmed and scared. She had to handle a fever scare completely alone because you were too busy drinking cocktails to answer your phone.”
Jason’s cheeks turned red instead of pale. “I was on vacation! I deserved a break!”
Margaret moved closer and said, “You deserved a break?” Jason actually staggered back. “Your wife deserved a partner. Your daughter deserved a father. But instead, they got abandonment when they needed you most.”
My voice sounded weak and wobbly, but I had finally found it. “Margaret is right, Jason. You left me when I could barely take care of myself, let alone a newborn.”
Jason’s gaze turned to mine in desperation. “Babe, come on. Don’t gang up on me with my mom. It was just one week.”
“One week that felt like a lifetime,” I said. “One week where I questioned everything about our marriage. One week where I realized that when things get tough, you run away.”
Margaret gestured toward her yellow travel bag. “I packed enough clothes for two weeks. If you’re not ready to step up as a husband and father, then I’ll stay here and help Claudia myself. But you don’t get to waltz back in here acting like nothing happened.”
Jason glanced between me and his mother, obviously seeing that his normal charm and justifications would not work this time.
He eventually murmured, “This is ridiculous,” but his voice had lost all of its strength.
“What’s ridiculous is a grown man who thinks a vacation is more important than his family’s well-being,” Margaret replied. “I raised you better than this, Jason. Your father would be ashamed.”
Jason started to feel hurt at that point. I was aware that the comparison would be painful because his father had died three years prior.
Jason remained there for a long time. At last he walked back toward the street and turned around.
I called after him and asked, “Where are you going?”
He said, “To Tom’s,” without turning around. “Because I’m not welcome in my own home anymore.”
Margaret turned to me, tears in her eyes, as his second Uber of the day pulled away. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t raise him to abandon his family like this.”
I sobbed more intensely than I had in the entire week. Margaret pulled Emma out of my arms and gave me the coziest hug I had felt in months.
Whispering, “You’re not alone anymore,” she said. “Not ever again.”
