When our daughter Rosie was six months old, she woke up crying at 2 a.m. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. I nudged my husband, Cole, asking him to change her. He refused, muttering, “Diapers aren’t a man’s job.” Those words broke something in me. After cleaning up Rosie alone,

—again—I made a decision. I called Walter, Cole’s estranged father, a man I’d never thought I’d reach out to. The next morning, Walter showed up unannounced. Cole was stunned.What followed wasn’t a confrontation—it was a warning. Walter shared how his own detachment started the same way: dismissing responsibilities