Chapter 1 The Reality Of Being A Housewife

• After a decade of marriage, my life had begun to feel like a stagnant pond—dull, monotonous, and seemingly without end.
• I endured day after day, hoping someone would recognize my sacrifices. I longed for the day when the bitterness would be replaced with something sweet. But then it hit me—what I thought was family had long since taken my sacrifices for granted.
• That realization left me unwilling to hold back any longer.
• By the time I got home that evening, it was already late.
• As I pushed the door open, I found Leonard Lynch, my husband, sitting on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers. The house was a disaster, even messier than it had been when I left. Half-eaten takeout containers cluttered the dining table, untouched since their use.
• He barely glanced at me before giving me a cold, accusing look. “What have you been doing all day?” he snapped. “Out all day, leaving the house in this state? You didn't even bother to cook! Jonah's in his growth phase—he can't live on takeout. How could you act like this as a mother?”
• I shot back, “And what about you?”
• Normally, when Leonard launched into one of his tirades, I'd stumble into justifying myself, muttering about how busy I'd been while hurriedly cleaning up. He knew my routine and was always ready with that familiar, impatient expression, prepared for me to fall into the same cycle. But not this time.
• “What?” he said, startled.
• I gestured toward the cluttered table, my voice sharp. “You're perfectly capable, aren't you? If you don't like takeout, why don't you cook for yourself? Or do you think I'm the only one responsible for Jonah?”
• His temper flared instantly. Leonard shot up from the couch, his face twisted with anger, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
• “What's that supposed to mean?” he spat. “I work hard all day while you stay at home. Is it too much to ask for you to cook a meal? Don't forget, Juliette—I've been supporting you all these years. Everything you eat, wear, and use is because of me!”
• Here he goes again.
• After Jonah was born, Leonard's mother insisted her health was too poor to help with the baby. Leonard claimed his career was taking off and that he didn't have the energy to deal with family responsibilities.
• We didn't have the money to hire a nanny, and so I compromised. I quit my job and became a stay-at-home wife.
• At first, I didn't see anything wrong with it. Men providing for their families while women managed the home—it was a division of labor I thought was fair. Wasn't that how many families operated?
• But over time, I came to understand how wrong I had been.
• The economic base determined the superstructure.
• Once I stopped earning an income, my voice at home started to fade.
• Whenever we argued, Leonard would mock me for my supposed ignorance or accuse me of living in ease and comfort, blind to the struggles of making money. Every disagreement ended with the same line, “I'm the one taking care of you.”
• And every time, I found myself with nothing to say in return.
• As I looked at him now—his fuller face set in a grimace of disdain—I thought back to the early days of our relationship.
• There had been a time when he looked at me differently. I remembered one evening, after a date, when we walked home together under the dim streetlights, casually chatting about our future.
• He'd gazed at me with a look so sincere it left no room for doubt. He promised to work hard to give me the best life and take care of me. Back then, his words had filled me with hope.
• But over the years, life had dulled the edges of our love. The daily grind, the endless trivialities of running a household, had worn away those promises. “I'll take care of you” had morphed into “I'm supporting you”, and that subtle change in wording made all the difference.
• The sight of him now filled me with revulsion. I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the ache in my chest. When I finally spoke, my voice was bitter. “You don't even earn much, Leonard, yet you act like you're a king. You talk as if you've conquered a kingdom just for me.”
• “Juliette Scott, have I been too lenient with you?” he barked, his voice rising.
• Over the years, Leonard had failed to make much of a mark at work. His abilities were average at best, and my words clearly stung his pride. His frustration spilled over, his insults growing harsher.
• I listened, unmoved, my face blank, though my expression betrayed a trace of sarcasm.
• So, even men can lose themselves to hysteria.
• A housewife's world was simply too small, so she could only vent her frustrations at home. But that was often mislabeled as her being unreasonable.
• The door to the second bedroom creaked open. My son Jonah emerged, his hair tousled, his tone irritated. “It's too loud! I was about to sleep,” he complained, shooting me an annoyed glance.
• He brushed past Leonard, muttering, “Mom, you're home all day. You've got plenty of time to rest. Dad and I have school and work tomorrow. Can't you stop causing trouble at night?”
• I could ignore Leonard's words, but my son's blatant defense of him and his baseless accusations toward me stung deeply.
• I turned to Jonah, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Do you even know what's going on before taking his side? Do you just assume I'm the one causing trouble?”
• “What else would it be?” Jonah shot back. “You're the one with the most free time in this house, doing nothing but spending Dad's money.”
• Leonard's barbs had never cut deeply, but Jonah's words shattered me. I lost control. “Do you think I wanted to quit my job? Do you think I became a housewife because I wanted to? I did it to take care of you!”
• Jonah didn't miss a beat. “Did I ask you to quit? Stop making yourself out to be a martyr!”
• Stop making myself out to be a martyr?
• His words felt like a slap across my face. I froze, stunned and unable to respond. The child I had poured my heart into raising had dismissed my sacrifices as meaningless.
• In this house, it seemed, everyone had their own important roles—except me. I was just a shadow, unacknowledged and invisible.
• With Jonah's words backing him up, Leonard looked triumphant. He turned away and went to bed, leaving me alone. The doors to their rooms slammed shut, leaving me standing in the icy silence.
• At that moment, I realized this wasn't my home. It was a cold, hollow place where Leonard and Jonah shared a bond, and I was nothing more than an outsider.