Eloise, nine months pregnant and driven by a powerful urge to get everything ready for their baby, was reaching her breaking point. Her husband, Tom, had promised to assemble the crib, but the box had sat unopened for weeks, mocking her with each passing day. She was tired of his empty promises and feeling increasingly isolated. With the baby’s arrival just around the corner, Eloise decided it was time to take action and teach Tom a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
I sat in the nursery’s armchair, glaring at the unopened crib box in the corner. The rest of the room was perfect for our baby, but that box seemed like a giant sign of Tom’s broken promises. Every time I asked him to put the crib together, he’d say, “Tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came. Now, I was exhausted and felt more alone than ever.
To Tom, assembling the crib was just another task on his never-ending to-do list. But to me, it was a crucial part of getting ready for our baby—a symbol of our partnership, which was starting to feel like a one-woman show. The longer the crib stayed in its box, the more I wondered if I could really count on him when it counted.
Fed up, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I struggled to drag the heavy box across the room, my back aching with each movement. As the baby shifted inside me, a sharp pang reminded me that I shouldn’t be doing this. But what choice did I have?
The instructions were a confusing mess, but I pressed on, piece by piece, screw by screw, my hands trembling with effort. Just as I was wrestling with a particularly tricky part, Tom walked in. He had that relaxed look on his face—the one that used to make me smile—but now it only made me angrier.
“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at the half-assembled crib. “Good job. Why’d you ask me to help if you could do it yourself?”
I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really just say that? I wanted to scream, to make him understand how much he was letting me down. But I knew shouting wouldn’t change anything. So instead, I turned back to the crib, tears streaming down my face.
Tom stood there for a moment, then shrugged and walked away, leaving me to finish what should have been our shared task. When I finally finished, I felt utterly defeated. I sank to the floor, staring at the crib through a haze of tears. This was supposed to be a moment we shared—something we could look back on with fondness. Instead, it was just another reminder of how alone I felt.
That night, as I lay in bed next to Tom, my mind raced. It wasn’t just about the crib. It was about how he brushed off my concerns, acting like my strength and independence meant I didn’t need him. But I did need him—just not like this. Something had to change. This wasn’t just about building a crib; it was about building our life together.
The next morning, I woke up with a plan. I wasn’t usually one for revenge, but after everything, I knew Tom needed a wake-up call.
“Tom,” I said, rubbing my back as if it hurt more than it did. “I think I’m going to take it easy today. I’ve been so tired lately.”
He barely looked up from his phone. “Sure, babe. Take all the time you need. I’ve got everything under control.”
That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “I invited a few friends and family over tomorrow for a little get-together before the baby arrives. Could you handle the rest of the preparations? You know, get the cake, set up the decorations, make sure everything’s perfect?”
Tom waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, no problem. How hard can it be?”
Oh, Tom. If only you knew.
I spent the rest of the day lounging on the couch while Tom worked on his computer, completely unaware of what he had just agreed to. The next morning, I stayed in bed longer than usual, letting him oversleep just enough to get behind schedule.
When he finally woke up, I handed him a list I’d prepared. It looked simple enough—just a few tasks to get the party ready. But I’d left out one crucial detail: there wasn’t nearly enough time to get everything done.
“Here’s the list,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m just going to rest a bit more. You’ve got this, right?”
Tom scanned the list, still groggy. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll get it all done.”
I bit back a smirk. This was going to be interesting.
An hour later, I heard him in the kitchen, cursing under his breath as he scrambled to get things done. Cabinets slammed, and I heard him muttering about the cake order. I stifled a laugh, imagining him frantically trying to get a last-minute cake from the bakery.
This was exactly what I wanted him to experience—the panic of being completely unprepared.
As the morning wore on, Tom’s stress became more apparent. He rushed around, arms full of groceries, decorations half-hanging from his hands. At one point, he poked his head into the bedroom, his hair a mess.
“Babe, where did you say the streamers were?” he asked, his voice higher than usual.
“Check the hall closet,” I mumbled, pretending to drift back to sleep.
I knew the streamers weren’t in the hall closet—they were buried in the basement behind a stack of old Christmas decorations. But Tom didn’t need to know that.
By the time the guests started arriving, Tom was a mess. The decorations were haphazardly thrown up, the food barely prepared, and I could see the panic in his eyes as he tried to hold everything together.
I watched from the couch, pretending to read a magazine as our friends and family filled the living room. The moment of truth came when Tom’s mother arrived. She gave him a critical once-over, her eyebrows knitting together.
“What’s going on here, Tom?” she asked, eyeing the half-hung decorations and the empty spot where the cake should’ve been.
Tom stammered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I, uh, I had everything under control, but… things got a little crazy.”
His mother sighed, shaking her head. “You should’ve known better.”
Tom looked like he wanted to disappear, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. But then I remembered the weeks of empty promises, the sleepless nights, and the crib I’d assembled on my own.
No, he needed to feel this.
After the party, when the guests had finally left, Tom and I sat down at the kitchen table. He looked drained and defeated. I let the silence stretch until he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize how much I was leaving on your shoulders. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t there like I should’ve been.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Tom, I need to know I can rely on you. Not just for the big things, but for everything. I can’t do this alone, and I shouldn’t have to.”
He reached across the table, taking my hand. “I promise, I’ll do better. I’ll be there. I’ll change.”
I searched his eyes and saw the sincerity in them. “Okay,” I said finally. “But this is your chance, Tom. Don’t waste it.”
