The house was a disaster. Kids were running wild, his mom picked at burnt frozen pizza, and Alex was red-faced, fumbling with whipped cream. I poured myself a glass of wine, raised it to his mom, and said, “Cheers!” I was calm, composed, and completely detached from the madness. It was his mess now, and I made sure he knew it.
That night, Alex tried to argue, but I reminded him I’m his wife, not a maid. The next morning, he cleaned the kitchen on his own. Weeks later, he suggested planning the next family visit together. It was the first time he truly acknowledged the imbalance. And from that moment on, he never dared to dump surprise hosting duties on me again.