When my husband Keith smugly announced he was going on a five-day resort vacation without me because I “don’t work” and “already get to relax at home,” I smiled and let him think he won. In reality, I was exhausted from caring for our newborn Lily — no sleep, endless diapers, cooking, cleaning, and doing everything alone while he believed he was the only one who worked. His comment lit a fire in me, and I decided he’d finally learn what I really do.

While he packed for sunshine and cocktails, I prepared a different kind of getaway. The morning he left, I emptied the fridge, cancelled our utility autopayments, packed Lily’s things, and left a note saying we were taking a “vacation” too. Then I turned off my phone and went to stay at my mom’s. Within days, the frantic texts began — no food, missed bills, dirty laundry piling up, and a baby nowhere in sight. For the first time, he had to handle real life alone.

When I finally turned my phone back on, Keith was panicking and begged me to come home, admitting he had been completely wrong. He returned to a wrecked house, exhausted and humbled. I came back days later to a frazzled man who finally understood the weight of childcare and managing a household. His first words were an apology — genuine, desperate, and overdue.

I handed him a chore list and told him we’d be splitting responsibilities from now on. Then I booked myself a spa day and reminded him he’d be on baby duty. Lesson learned: just because work isn’t paid doesn’t mean it isn’t real. And if he ever dared to say motherhood isn’t work again? I’d take more than diapers next time.