“Okay,” I replied absentmindedly.
“You’ll need to take care of Danny and the house while I’m gone,” she added.
I waved it off. “That’s easy.”
Lucy gave me a small smile—one that hinted at something I didn’t quite grasp. She packed her bag, and I let my boss know I’d be off the next day.
The next morning, I was startled awake by my alarm blaring. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock—7:45 AM.
“Wait, 7:45?” Panic set in as I bolted upright. Lucy usually woke me up and got Danny ready for school. But she wasn’t there. And we were late.
“Danny!” I called, scrambling out of bed. “Get up! We’re running behind!”
Danny stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s at work,” I muttered, searching for his clothes. “Where are your clothes?”
“Mommy picks them,” he said simply.
Of course, she did. I frantically dug through the drawers and pulled out a wrinkled T-shirt and some sweatpants.
“Here. Put these on,” I said.
Danny frowned. “They don’t match.”
“It’s fine,” I assured him, tossing them his way. “Just hurry.”
In the kitchen, I tried to prepare breakfast, but there was no time for pancakes or eggs like Lucy usually made. I threw some bread into the toaster and grabbed a juice box. As I turned to get plates, I heard a loud snap. The toaster had burned the bread, leaving behind a blackened mess.
“Just eat a banana,” I suggested, handing him one.
“I wanted pancakes,” Danny pouted.
The day didn’t get any easier. Later, after dropping Danny off at school, I stopped for a quick bite to eat, only to spill ketchup on my shirt. Frustrated, I rushed home to change. That’s when I remembered—I had no clean shirts because Lucy always did the laundry.
“How hard could it be?” I thought as I walked to the washing machine. But as I stared at the buttons—”heavy load,” “delicate,” “permanent press”—I had no idea what to do. After fumbling with the settings to no avail, I gave up and grabbed a different shirt instead.
Then I realized—my work shirts needed ironing. I plugged in the iron and placed a fresh shirt on the board. But the moment I pressed down, I smelled burning fabric. Lifting the iron, I saw a hole scorched right through my shirt.
I sighed, tossing it in the trash.
Feeling determined, I moved on to cooking lunch. I placed a frozen pack of chicken on the stove, turned the heat up, and walked away. Ten minutes later, the kitchen was filled with smoke. The chicken was completely burned, and the smoke alarm blared. I grabbed a towel and waved it frantically until it stopped.
Exhausted, I turned to clean up, only to find the dishwasher full of dirty dishes. Again, I stared at the buttons, just as confused as before. After pressing a few, nothing happened. I sighed in frustration.
I had always thought housework was straightforward. But standing in the middle of the mess I had created, I realized just how wrong I had been.
That afternoon, when I picked Danny up from school, I was at my breaking point. As soon as we walked into the house, he stopped and stared at the chaos—dishes piled in the sink, laundry scattered, and the lingering scent of burnt chicken in the air.
“Daddy… what happened?” he asked, wide-eyed.
I sighed. “I don’t know, bud. I tried to do everything, but nothing went right.”
Without hesitation, Danny looked up at me. “Okay. Let’s clean up.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Mommy and I do it together all the time,” he said. “I can show you.”
To my surprise, Danny walked over to the washing machine, picked up the shirt I had left, and pressed the right buttons with confidence. Moments later, the cycle started.
“How did you know how to do that?” I asked, astonished.
“Mom taught me,” he shrugged before moving on to the next task.
He efficiently loaded the dishwasher next, pressing the right buttons with ease. At six years old, my son was more capable than I was.
“Why do you help so much?” I asked, feeling a lump form in my throat.
“Because Mommy needs it,” he said simply.
Those words hit me hard. Lucy hadn’t been asking for help because housework was easy—she had been asking because she was tired. And I hadn’t been listening.
That evening, when I got home from work, I found Lucy and Danny in the kitchen, working together. Lucy was chopping vegetables while Danny stirred something in a bowl.
“Hey,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “How was your day?”
“Better than yesterday,” she teased.
She held up a knife. “Want to help me make dinner?”
Just a week ago, I would’ve declined and parked myself on the couch. But now, I saw things differently.
“Yeah. I do,” I said.
Lucy raised an eyebrow but smiled as she handed me a cutting board. I grabbed a tomato and started slicing, clumsy but determined. Danny giggled at my awkwardness, and Lucy smiled, happy to have me by her side.
For the first time in a long while, we were working together—not just as a family, but as a team.