I Came Home from a Trip to Find Our House Being Destroyed by My Husband and Kids — It Was the Last Straw

As Jo returns from a business trip, she walks into a messy and chaotic house. Her husband, Brandon, greets her with a comment that gives her no choice but to run to her parents’ house for refuge. When she returns, things seem to be better. But will Brandon learn his lesson and play his part in their marriage?

I walked through the door, the clack of my suitcase wheels echoing off the hallway walls, and I was absolutely stunned.

It looked like a tornado had swept through our living room.

Toys were strewn across the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, and what? A blackened banana on the couch?

My heart sank. This was the last thing I needed after a grueling week of meetings across the state.

I just wanted to come back home to my husband and children, and my own bed. To come back to a clean home.

When I left for my trip, I had left explicit instructions for my husband, Brandon.

I had even prepped meals to last the week, sorting out lunches and dinners. I wanted to make everything as easy as possible for my husband.

All Brandon had to do was sort out the kids’ cereal in the morning and get them dressed, which was going to be easy enough because I had sorted the kids’ outfits by day. The laundry had been done before I left, too.

Everything was set for my husband to take over seamlessly.

And yet, as I walked into my home, craving the comfort of the house that I had left for a week, I was only met by disappointment.

Walking into the kitchen was even worse. The sink was piled with used mugs, and the fridge was nearly empty, save for bottles of sauce and a pack of beer.

How had everything unraveled so quickly?

I heard the back door open and close; Brandon had been outside with the kids when I walked into the mess.

“Honey!” he said, rushing toward me to hug me. “I’m so glad you’re back! I’m starving!”

I met his greeting with silence; his words felt like a slap in the face.

“You didn’t make enough food for the week, Jo,” he added nonchalantly. “I’ve had to give the kids pizza for the past two nights. We’re also out of milk. And I’ve had to focus on work, not worry about the house.”

That was the final straw.

The frustration and fatigue of months, no, years, of feeling undervalued and overburdened, boiled over.

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