When I married Lucas, I felt I was marrying someone who understood me. We were together for five years before marrying. When I married Lucas, I felt I was marrying someone who understood me. Before getting married, we shared five years of laughing, long road trips, inside jokes, and quiet confidence as a team.
Lucas was a party animal—charming, humorous, and captivating. Tech sales were his job. His employment was solid but not ideal. However, I was a litigator. I loved and excelled at my job. I was at one of the city’s best legal firms, known for handling high-stakes matters, and made much more than Lucas.
That was OK with us. At least I thought we were.
Lucas always wanted a son, almost compulsively.
“I can already see it,” he said, beaming. Training him to ride a bike, throw a baseball in the yard, and fix a tire. I want to offer him everything I missed.”
I didn’t mind having kids, but I wasn’t hurrying. I was rapidly advancing in my job and didn’t want to stop. Lucas never pushed. Instead, he made the most sincere, generous promise:
“When we finally have our boy,” he remarked one night on our balcony, “I’ll stay home with him. Jules, you worked hard. Continue, please. My dad duties are full-time. That’s my wish.”
Are you sure? Shocked, I asked.
“Positive,” he answered calmly. That’s the dream. Keep being yourself, and I’ll watch our kid.”
He convinced me. God help me, I bought every word.
I agreed after months of deliberation.
Nearly two years passed before I noticed those two pink lines. Lucas hugged me, turned me around, and exclaimed, “I just know it’s a boy!”
Lucas virtually had a celebration once the scan confirmed it. He told his neighbors, barber, and coffee shop barista. “I’m going to be a stay-at-home dad,” he said. “World’s best job.”
My pregnancy was hard. Backache, mood changes, morning sickness—the lot. Lucas’s delight and animation made things simpler. Read baby books. Teddy bear diaper changes were practiced. He painted and put cloud-shaped shelves in the nursery.
Next came the big day.
Labor was painful and lengthy. I was fatigued and sweaty, but holding our kid for the first time was everything. Lucas stood at my side, crying. “He’s perfect,” he muttered.
Realistic dream. About a week.
First few days home were turmoil. Lack of sleep, screaming, formula spills. However, I kept expecting Lucas would intervene. He will find his groove. He pledged.
Instead, excuses started.
They started tiny.
Can you get him, Babe? Just sat.”
“I think he needs you more—he only stops crying when you hold him.”
Head thumping. May I nap?
I attributed it to growing pains. He adjusted. We both were. However, my stomach was creating a pit.
Preparing for my gradual comeback included night feedings, hormonal mood swings, and stealing legal work between naps. Lucas? His retreat increased. He spent half his day on his phone and half “too tired” to assist.
Lucas entered the room one evening while I nursed our kid and sent an email on my phone. He said something that froze my breath.
Hi, I’ve been pondering… Maybe you should stay home with him full-time.”
Shocked, I glanced up. I half-laughed. “You’re kidding?”
Cheerfully, he leaned on the doorframe. “You didn’t think I was serious about staying home, right? That was merely a baby-making phrase.”
I watched him.
“You said you’d be the stay-at-home parent,” I responded softly.
“Yeah, but that was before I realized how much work this is,” he shrugged. “All moms stay home. It’s natural. You have instincts.”
Too astonished to answer, I blinked.
He dropped the hammer: “Isn’t it selfish? Put your work above our son?
It existed.
Selfish.
That word ignited me so rapidly my heart raced.
“I sacrificed years for my career,” I remarked, attempting to relax. “You knew. You backed me. You promised—no, you insisted—to take care of things so I wouldn’t have to give up.”
Lucas gestured like I was exaggerating. “Plans change, Jules. I expected you to change after holding him.”
I snapped, “No.” “You changed. And you lied.”
He stared at me like I was exaggerating. I crawled at that expression.
I didn’t shout. No tears.
Just quieted. Dangerous quiet.
“Okay,” I responded. We’re divorcing if I leave my job.”
His grin vanished.
“Wait—what?”
My voice was cold as I leaned across the table. “I won’t play house with a liar if I leave my dream career. I’ll divorce if I stop. Taking complete possession. You’ll pay child support depending on my expected income. I will make sure everyone you’ve ever boasted to knows how you broke your word when it became hard.”
Lucas looked like I smacked him. “Don’t be serious.”
“I’m a lawyer,” I replied. “Try me.”
He departed with a duffle bag that night. He visited his parents.
The following afternoon, his mother phoned.
Her voice was abnormally soft: “Hi, Julia. Just wanted to let you know we support you.”
Excuse me?
“Lucas told us everything,” she groaned. “Let’s say his father had strong opinions.”
His irate dad was in the background.
“She built a career,” he shouted. “He promised. He boasted about remaining home. He wants her to throw it all away?
Shocked, I blinked.
Lucas’s mother called back. He’s ashamed. He should be.”
At night, Lucas texted. Wanted to discuss.
He arrived home the following night with a drawn face. He looked like he spent the night staring at himself in the mirror.
“I panicked,” he said across from me. “I thought I could handle it, but reality scared me. I forced it on you instead of acknowledging it.”
I remained mute.
“I know I broke my word,” he said. I don’t want to lose you. Or him. I want to improve.”
Studied him. No grin. No charm. Just dread and possibly—finally—honesty.
“I’m not giving up my career,” I insisted.
“You shouldn’t,” he said.
From then on, we began over.
We changed rules. Very clear. Lucas became the daytime babysitter. A part-time babysitter was recruited for my court appearances. He began parenting lessons, night feedings, and food prep. He became the guy he promised.
It was flawed. Hard days persisted. Exhausting ones. But the difference? He arrived.
After dinner, Lucas glanced at me and remarked, “You know…” while our kid laughed in his high chair. Probably needed to be afraid to grow up.”
I grinned. “I was dead serious about the divorce, by the way.”
He nodded. “I know. Never test you again.”
Lesson: Never violate a commitment to a strong, legal lady.
