Billy sulked for the next few days. He wasn't outright rude, but he was quieter than usual. He avoided eye contact, spent more time scrolling through his phone, and barely spoke unless necessary. I knew he was processing everything, and honestly? I was fine with letting him stew in his own guilt.
I wasn’t going to celebrate just yet. One washing machine didn’t erase months of neglect. But it was a start. And a start was better than nothing.
A few nights later, something unexpected happened.
I had just put the baby to bed and was dragging myself toward the laundry pile when Billy cleared his throat behind me.
"Hey, uh… I’ll do that."
I blinked, turning to look at him. He was standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting between me and the laundry basket like it was some kind of wild animal.
"You'll… do the laundry?" I repeated slowly, like I wasn't sure I'd heard him right.
He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, it's only fair. You've been doing everything."
I studied him for a moment, searching for sarcasm, but found none. He was serious. A small part of me wanted to tell him, "Damn right it's fair," but instead, I just exhaled, the exhaustion pressing down on me. "Okay. Thanks."
Billy picked up the basket, hesitated, then glanced at me. "Uh… can you show me how to use this thing?"
I almost laughed. The man who had insisted that I wash everything by hand for weeks had never even bothered to learn how a washing machine worked.
Instead of snapping at him, I simply stepped forward and pointed at the buttons. "This one sets the temperature. This one starts the cycle. And don’t forget the detergent."
Billy nodded like he was receiving sacred knowledge. I watched as he hesitated for a second before finally starting the machine. The low hum of the washer filled the space between us, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something inside me unclench.
The next day, I woke up to the smell of coffee.
That was new.
I walked into the kitchen to find Billy standing by the counter, two steaming mugs in front of him. He looked up when he saw me, a little unsure. "Thought you might want some."
I raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"
Billy chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing. I just… I figured I’ve been a bit of an ass."
I snorted. "A bit?"
He sighed. "A lot. Look, I know an apology doesn’t fix everything, but I’m trying, okay?"
I studied him for a long moment before finally reaching for the coffee. "Okay."
Billy exhaled, looking relieved. "Good. Because, uh… I also made breakfast."
I blinked. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"
He laughed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was genuine. "I’m just a guy who finally got his head out of his ass."
It wasn’t a perfect resolution. One washing machine and a few cups of coffee didn’t erase the months of exhaustion, resentment, and loneliness. But it was a step. And sometimes, a single step in the right direction was all you needed to believe that things could change.
As I sipped my coffee and watched Billy fumble with the frying pan, I realized something: maybe, just maybe, we were going to be okay.
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