I used to think exhaustion was the hardest part of raising six-month-old twins, but then my husband packed a bag for a four-day fishing trip and left me alone with two crying babies. That evening, Lila screamed against my shoulder while Ivy cried in her bouncer. Dirty bottles covered the counter, a pot was nearly boiling dry, and I had not eaten since breakfast. When Brandon came home, he complained that he could hear the babies from the driveway and asked why I could not do something about the noise. I asked him to wash the bottles while I settled them, but he said he had just returned from work and was finished for the day. When I reminded him that I had been caring for the twins since five that morning, he dismissed it because I was “home all day.” Then I noticed a green duffel bag by the entrance. Brandon admitted that his friends were collecting him for a four-day fishing trip he had planned without telling me. He said he needed a break, while insisting that staying home with two infants somehow counted as mine. When I asked whether he would return if I called and said I could not manage, he hesitated. That pause gave me my answer. Before leaving, he looked at the crying twins and said, “You wanted to be a mother, so act like one.” I refused to beg him to stay and told him to go because he had already chosen. At three in the morning, I sat on the nursery floor with one baby on each side of me and half a granola bar in my hand. Brandon had not called once. The next morning, he posted a photograph from the lake captioned, “Finally getting the peace and quiet I deserve.” I took a screenshot. Apparently, Brandon deserved rest while I deserved whatever was left.
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