I saw a side of my husband that I wish I had never seen when I got sick. He left me and our newborn daughter because he couldn’t be the man, partner, and parent I thought he was. So, I went along with it… In the end, I was stronger, and he learned a lesson he will always remember.
Drew is 33 and I’m 30. We have a kid named Sadie who is six months old. She is everything to me. Her chuckles can make any time better, her grin brightens every room, and her cute, squishy cheeks? Just magic. But for some reason, none of that seemed to matter to my spouse when I got sick.
Let me clarify. Get ready—this still feels strange to me, and not only because I had a high temperature when it all started.
A bad sickness hit me a little over a month ago. Not COVID or RSV, but anything just as bad. I experienced chills that wouldn’t go away, bodily aches that wouldn’t stop, a headache that was so bad it felt like my ribs were breaking, and a cough that was so bad it felt like my ribs were breaking. The worst part? Sadie had just gotten over her own cold, and I was quickly running out of energy.
I was utterly exhausted from trying to mend myself while taking care of a newborn that needed constant reassurance. Drew had been acting strange for weeks, even before I got sick. He was distant, often on his phone, and laughed at things he wouldn’t tell me about. When I asked, he would just say, “Just work stuff,” without going into much more. He had a short fuse and would get angry about little things, like forgetting to thaw chicken for dinner or not washing the dishes.
Drew looked at me one night as I was rocking Sadie and trying not to cough on her. He said, “You always look so tired.”
I said, tired, “Well, yeah.” I’m taking care of a whole person.
I truly thought that becoming sick may make him wake up. That watching me have a hard time will finally make him do anything. I was so incorrect.
That night, when my fever hit 102.4, I could not sit up straight. My skin hurt, my head hurt, and every part of my body hurt. I turned to Drew and whispered, “Please take Sadie.” I only need to lay down for 20 minutes.
His response? “I can’t.” Your cough is keeping me awake. I need to get some sleep. I believe I’ll spend a couple nights at my mom’s house.
I thought it was funny at first. He had to be kidding.
He wasn’t.
He got dressed, packed a suitcase, kissed Sadie on the forehead (but not me), and left. I kept saying, “Are you really leaving me like this?” the whole time. He didn’t say anything; he just nodded and left.
He never asked how I was going to take care of a baby when I could scarcely stand. I sat on the couch and rocked Sadie while she screamed from being hungry and tired. I stared blankly at the front door.
“Are you really leaving your sick wife and baby alone?” I texted him.
What did he say? “You are the mother. You know what you’re doing. I would just get in the way. And your cough is driving me crazy.
I couldn’t stop shaking my hands as I read that again and over. It could have been the fever or the wrath, but I couldn’t believe my husband could just ignore me like way.
Okay.
I made it through the weekend. I don’t recall how. Sadie slept, and I cried in the shower. With Tylenol, water, and nothing but willpower, I kept her fed, warm, and safe. Drew never got in touch. Not once.
My family was far away, and I couldn’t get in touch with my friends. I was lying on the floor, cold and alone, and all I could think about was how to make him know what it’s like to be entirely alone.
I came up with a plan.
I knew what I was going to do as soon as my fever cleared and I started to feel like a person again.
A week later, I sent a text that said, “Hey babe.” I’m doing better now. You can return home.
“Thank God,” he said quickly. I haven’t slept here. “Mom’s dog snores, and she’s making me do yard work.”
Poor guy.
I cleaned everything, had Sadie’s food ready, stocked all her supplies, and even made his favorite dinner—spaghetti carbonara with garlic bread—before he arrived home. I took a shower, combed my hair, put on mascara, and donned clothes that didn’t scream, “I’ve been up all night with a baby.”
He came in as if nothing had occurred. He grinned, ate dinner, and then fell asleep on the couch with his phone in hand.
That’s when I hit.
I said, “Hey,” in a pleasant voice. “Can you take care of Sadie?” I just need to go upstairs and get something.
“Sure,” he said, still looking at TikTok.
I went upstairs, got a tiny suitcase and my car keys, and then came back down.
His eyes quickly moved to the suitcase. “What’s that?”
“I made a reservation for a spa retreat over the weekend. I need a break from the massages, facials, and room service.
He straightened up. “Wait, you’re going now?”
“Yes!” Only for two nights. Her favorite toys are ready, the diapers and wipes are all there, and the bottles are all labeled. You are her father, thus you can do this.
He started to stutter, “Claire, I don’t know—”
I stopped him. “Do you remember what you said? “You’re the mom.” You know what to do. Now you’re the father. “Find out.”
After that, I left.
No slamming of doors. No crying. Just a calm drive to a nice inn with a spa and cookies that were just made.
I didn’t pick up the phone or text anyone that day. He would be able to handle it if it were a real emergency.
I got a long massage, took a nap by the fire, got my nails done, and watched ridiculous reality shows in a soft robe.
I slept in on Saturday, got a facial, drank coffee, and read a book by the fire.
He called twice. Two messages were left on voicemail. One freaked out, and the other tried to make me feel bad.
“Claire, Sadie won’t sleep. She threw up on me. “Please call.”
I didn’t.
But that night I finally FaceTimed because I missed Sadie. She looked like a mess, but she was delighted, nibbling on the string of his hoodie. It looked like Drew hadn’t slept since I left.
He said, “Claire, I’m sorry,” his voice breaking. I didn’t know how hard this would be.
He didn’t, of course.
I just nodded. “I know.”
I got home on Sunday night to a mess of dishes, bottles, and toys. It looked like a tornado had hit Drew. Sadie grabbed for me, and I picked her up. She smelled like baby wipes and trouble, but she was fine.
Drew looked at me like I was an angel from paradise.
He muttered, “I understand now.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He nodded, feeling humiliated.
I took out a piece of paper, but it wasn’t divorce papers; it was a chore plan. A real plan. He had to do half of the work.
I informed him, “You can’t check out anymore.” “I need someone to help me.” Not another child.
He nodded his head. “Okay.” I’m in.
He has been trying, which is good. He wakes up to feed the baby at night, changes diapers, makes bottles, and even swaddles like a pro.
But I’m not in a hurry to forgive. I’m keeping an eye on things. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
He realized that love doesn’t mean letting someone treat you badly. And I told him, “I’m not the woman you leave when things get hard.”
I’m the woman who will make sure you never forget what she can do.
