I waited.
“He says he tries to help around the house, but you redo everything. So eventually you both realized it was easier if you handled home stuff.”
I stared at the laundry basket.
I remembered the time Harold packed Sasha’s school bag with three toys and no homework.
The morning he sent Nicki to school with yogurt and no spoon.
The time he loaded the dishwasher so badly that a wooden cutting board blocked the spray arm.
Every time, I’d corrected the problem.
Eventually, I’d stopped asking.
Not because I wanted control.
Because teaching a grown man the same basic tasks repeatedly took more energy than doing them myself.
“He makes it sound like you don’t let him help,” Adele said.
“No.”
“No?”
“I stopped asking him to.”
After we hung up, I opened the map on my phone.
I entered three addresses.
Home.
School.
Harold’s office.
Taking the girls to school added approximately twelve minutes.
Then I entered Adele’s address.
Twenty-five.
