Chapter 15: The Househusband

With Marcus’s help, I felt a bit more at ease. Natalie, probably feeling guilty, stopped working overtime and came home before dark. Just like that, half a month passed. Marcus said everything was normal with Natalie at the company—didn’t see her getting close to any male colleagues. He even told me not to overthink things or it would affect my marriage.

For a while, things almost felt normal again. Natalie was home for dinner, even helped clear the table a few times. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some slip-up. Every day, I’d text Marcus, and every day he’d tell me everything was fine.

If I hadn’t found that prenatal check-up slip and abortion discharge summary, I might have believed him. But the facts are right in front of me—the evidence of her cheating is ironclad.

Those documents haunted me. I’d dream about hospital corridors, about the doctor’s signature. It didn’t matter what Marcus said—the truth was in black and white.

“Dude, tell me the truth: what did Natalie do to make you so sure she cheated?”

Marcus’s voice over the phone was light, teasing, but edged with worry. He thought I didn’t trust him, or maybe he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t spiraling.

On the phone, seeing I wasn’t saying anything, Marcus thought I didn’t believe him. “Anyway, your wife is fine at the company. Are you really sure she cheated? Or do you already have solid evidence?”

His questions were pointed. He sounded impatient, almost offended.

I thought about it. The fewer people who know about Natalie’s abortion, the better, so I didn’t mention it. “Just think I’m being paranoid.”

I kept my tone light, but inside I was seething. There was no way I’d share the hospital documents—not with anyone. This shame was mine to carry.

Marcus was silent for two seconds. “Come on, since you have no evidence, then I really have to defend your wife. You know, office workers are super busy and stressed out—where’s the time to cheat? Your Natalie is even less likely. I say, you’ve been out of work too long and lost touch with reality. What’s the point of being a househusband, like a full-time housewife with too much time to think? Want to get a job again? Just so happens a partner of mine is looking for an operations director. Didn’t you used to do that? Want to give it a try? The pay’s great…”

I heard the edge of frustration in his voice, maybe even a little condescension. He always liked to rib me about being a househusband, even though he knew about my channel. Still, I could sense something else—like he wanted me out of the house, distracted, anywhere but paying attention.

“Stop, stop.” I cut him off, laughing. “You know I’m not interested in the corporate world anymore.”

I tried to make it sound like an old joke between us, but my laughter felt hollow.

Marcus sighed on the phone. “But you can’t just stay home doing nothing. Don’t your in-laws give you attitude? I say, you should find a job to distract yourself. Otherwise, if your in-laws find out you’re doubting their daughter like this, they’ll say some nasty things again.”

He wasn’t wrong. My father-in-law had never warmed up to me, always dropping hints that I was mooching off his daughter. Natalie never intervened. I always bit my tongue, telling myself it was easier to keep the peace.

I fell silent. I never formally told the family about my social media work. Including Natalie, everyone thinks I’m living off my savings. My father-in-law has said to my face more than once, ‘You only feel relaxed because you have no kids. If you had a child, let’s see if your money would last. This family is still supported by my daughter.’

Those words echoed in my head, the sting fresh every time. I wanted to shout back, to show him my channel stats, but I never did. I just paid the bills and kept my head down.

They’re elders, so I didn’t want to argue. But Natalie never spoke up for me either. I’ve always paid the mortgage and covered all living expenses. At most, Natalie would buy some daily necessities, but most of her salary went to clothes and makeup—the main household expenses were still on me. Isn’t that supporting the family?

I’d watched the bills pile up, the mortgage drafts from our joint account, the credit card statements with Sephora and Nordstrom and Macy’s charges. No one ever thanked me. But I kept paying, kept pretending it didn’t bother me.

I didn’t want to talk about this annoying topic anymore, so I brushed him off and hung up. But after hanging up, I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong.

There was a heaviness in my chest, a sense that I was missing something—some piece of the puzzle that Marcus wasn’t telling me. I paced the kitchen, wishing I’d pressed him harder.