At 32, after 12 years with Eric, 43, I was exhausted raising our kids—Lily, 10, and Brandon, 5—alone. I managed parenting, a part-time job, and all household chores while Eric thought his paycheck was enough. He never helped with the kids, spending evenings on the couch with sports or games. I adored our children, but I was worn thin. One day, I asked him to watch them for an hour for a coffee outing. “I’m tired,” he said, eyes on the TV. “Moms don’t get breaks. My mom didn’t.” I exploded. “She probably felt like I do but couldn’t say it!” He dismissed me. “It’s your job, Katie.”
“They’re your kids too!” I said, but he claimed providing was enough. Days later, at dinner, he said, “We need another baby.” I stared, stunned. “I’m struggling with two!” I said. “You don’t help.” He insisted his money covered his role. I argued parenting took more, but his mother, Brianna, and sister Amber, visiting, jumped in. “Eric provides,” Brianna said. “Appreciate him.” Amber said, “Mom raised us without fuss.” I snapped, “I’m not fussing—I’m overwhelmed!” I told Eric his old-fashioned views were wrong, but he said, “Life’s tough.” That night, he pushed for another child again. “You don’t even know our kids!” I said. He stormed out, slamming the door.
The next morning, Brianna and Amber arrived, uninvited, saying I wasn’t the “nice” girl Eric married. “I’m a woman who knows her value,” I replied. Amber called it betrayal, but my sister, arriving, threatened to call the police. They left, angry. When Eric returned, he accused me of insulting his family. “I told them to stay out of our marriage,” I said. He yelled, “Get out!” I packed, but at the door, I said, “The kids stay with whoever keeps the house.” He was speechless. I left with my sister. Eric wouldn’t take custody, so I filed for divorce, kept the house, got full custody, and secured child support. Standing up felt right.
