After breaking my leg, I expected my husband, Harold, to help care for our daughters. Instead, every morning he said he couldn’t be late for work, leaving me dependent on my mother, our neighbor, and even a car service while using crutches. Then, after a hospital appointment, I spotted Harold’s car outside an apartment building. His young coworker Adele got into the passenger seat, and he drove her to work.

When I questioned him, Harold explained that Adele’s car was being repaired and her apartment was closer to his office. But our daughters’ school was only twelve minutes from home. The truth became harder to ignore when I found Sasha’s school project titled “People Who Help My Family.” Under my name, she listed everything I did for the girls. Under Harold’s picture, she wrote that he took “Miss Adele” to work because her car was broken.

I left the project on Harold’s passenger seat. Later, he called angrily after Adele saw it and realized he had never actually been driving our daughters to school before picking her up. Adele eventually called me and explained that Harold had described our marriage differently at work. He told her I preferred doing everything myself and never allowed him to help.

When Harold came home, I showed him the different routes and asked why twenty-five minutes for her was easier than twelve minutes for his daughters. He finally admitted that Adele thanked him and made him feel appreciated. I reminded him that being a father was not customer service. The next morning, he had to handle the girls’ routine himself and experienced how much work I had been carrying while injured.