Eloise, nine months pregnant and bursting with a nesting instinct, was growing more and more frustrated with her husband, Tom. Despite her constant nudges and reminders, the crib was still sitting in its unopened box. It had become a symbol of Tom’s procrastination and her own increasing loneliness. With the baby due any day now, Eloise decided she needed to take action and teach Tom a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
I plopped down in the nursery’s armchair, staring at the unopened crib box in the corner. The rest of the room was ready for our baby, but that box seemed to taunt me with Tom’s broken promises. Every time I asked him to assemble the crib, his answer was always the same: “Tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came. Now, I was exhausted and felt more alone than ever.
To Tom, assembling the crib was just another task on his never-ending to-do list. But to me, it was crucial for preparing for our baby and a sign of our partnership, which was starting to feel like a solo mission. The longer the crib stayed in its box, the more I began to wonder if I could really count on him when it mattered most.
So, I decided to handle it myself.
I heaved the heavy box across the room, my back aching with each move. As the baby shifted inside me, a sharp pang reminded me that I shouldn’t be doing this. But what choice did I have?
The instructions were a chaotic mess, but I kept going, piece by piece, screw by screw, my hands shaking with the effort. Just as I was struggling with a particularly stubborn part, Tom walked in. He had that relaxed look on his face—the same one that used to make me smile—but now it just made me more frustrated.
“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at the half-built crib. “Good job. Why’d you ask me to help if you could do it yourself?”
I stared at him, stunned. Did he really just say that? I wanted to scream, to make him understand how much he was letting me down, but I knew it wouldn’t help. So instead, I turned back to the crib, tears streaming down my face.
Tom stood there for a moment, then shrugged and walked out, leaving me to finish what should have been our shared task. When I finally finished, I felt utterly defeated. I collapsed on the floor, staring at the crib through a blur of tears. This was supposed to be a moment we shared—a memory to look back on with fondness. Instead, it was just another reminder of how alone I felt.
That night, as I lay in bed next to Tom, my mind raced. It wasn’t just about the crib. It was about how he dismissed my worries, acting as if my strength and independence meant I didn’t need him. But I did need him—just not like this. Something had to change. This wasn’t just about building a crib; it was about building our life together.
The next morning, I woke up with a plan. I wasn’t usually one for revenge, but after everything, I knew Tom needed a wake-up call.
“Tom,” I said, rubbing my back as if it hurt more than it did. “I think I’m going to take it easy today. I’ve been so tired lately.”
He barely glanced up from his phone. “Sure, babe. Take all the time you need. I’ve got everything under control.”
That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “I invited a few friends and family over tomorrow for a little get-together before the baby comes. Could you handle the rest of the preparations? You know, get the cake, set up the decorations, make sure everything’s perfect?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, no problem. How hard can it be?”
Oh, Tom. If only you knew.
I spent the rest of the day lounging on the couch while he worked on his computer, blissfully unaware of what he had agreed to. The next morning, I stayed in bed a bit longer, letting him oversleep just enough to get him behind schedule.
When he finally woke up, I handed him the list I’d prepared. It looked simple enough—just a few tasks to get the party ready. But I’d left out one crucial detail: there wasn’t nearly enough time to get everything done.
“Here’s the list,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m just going to rest a bit more. You’ve got this, right?”
Tom scanned the list, still groggy. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll get it all done.”
I could barely contain my smile, knowing this was going to be entertaining.
An hour later, I heard him in the kitchen, swearing under his breath as he scrambled to get things done. Cabinets slammed, and I heard him mutter about the cake order. I had to stifle a laugh, picturing him panicking at the bakery, trying to convince them to rush a last-minute cake.
This was exactly what I wanted him to experience—the panic of being completely unprepared.
As the morning dragged on, his stress became obvious. He rushed around, arms full of groceries, decorations hanging half-heartedly. At one point, he poked his head into the bedroom, his hair a mess.
“Babe, where did you say the streamers were?” he asked, his voice higher than usual.
“Check the hall closet,” I mumbled, pretending to drift back to sleep.
I knew the streamers weren’t in the hall closet—they were buried in the basement behind a pile of old Christmas decorations. But he didn’t need to know that.
By the time the guests started arriving, Tom was a wreck. The decorations were haphazardly thrown up, the food barely ready, and I could see the panic in his eyes as he tried to keep everything together.
I watched from the couch, pretending to read a magazine as our friends and family filled the living room. The moment of truth came when Tom’s mother arrived. She took one look at him, her eyebrows knitting together.
“What’s going on here, Tom?” she asked, eyeing the mismatched decorations and the empty spot where the cake should’ve been.
Tom stammered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I, uh, I had everything under control, but… things got a little crazy.”
His mother sighed, shaking her head. “You should’ve known better.”
Tom looked like he wanted to vanish. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. But then I remembered the weeks of empty promises, the sleepless nights, and the crib I had put together on my own.
No, he needed to feel this.
After the party, once the guests had gone, Tom and I sat down at the kitchen table. He looked completely drained. I let the silence stretch until he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize how much I was leaving on your shoulders. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t there like I should’ve been.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Tom, I need to know I can rely on you. Not just for the big things, but for everything. I can’t do this alone, and I shouldn’t have to.”
He reached across the table, taking my hand. “I promise, I’ll do better. I’ll be there. I’ll change.”
I looked into his eyes and saw he was sincere. “Okay,” I said finally. “But this is your chance, Tom. Don’t waste it.”
