The next day, I knew that I had to return home.

“You do need to go home, honey,” my mother said, as she made breakfast. “The kids need to see you.”

When I returned home, the atmosphere was hopeful. Brandon stood in the doorway, his posture hesitant. Beyond him, I could see the glimmers of an attempt to restore order to our home, with the vacuum left out in the open.

But it was the sound of laughter from the backyard that drew me, tugging at the corners of my heart.

I walked around to the back of the house, and there they were. My children, playing around with a soccer ball.

The sight of them, so carefree and happy, momentarily washed away the turmoil of the past 24 hours. Max spotted me first, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could across the grass.

“Mommy!” he shouted, launching himself into my arms, Ava hot on his heels.

“Mom! You’re back!” she screamed.

I hugged them both, soaking in the comfort of their closeness.

“I missed you guys so much,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, the guilt heavy in my heart.

We spent the next 30 minutes playing in the backyard, with Brandon watching from the sidelines. I could see him in the kitchen, doing dishes at the sink.

I knew that I should have gone to him and helped out. Or even begin having our conversation. But I wanted to soak up the time with my children.

“Mom, can we get ice cream?” Ava asked after a little while.

My children deserved an outing, so I promised them we would get ice cream before we went out to do a grocery run.

“Go wash up,” I told the kids, while I went to Brandon.

I took the envelope that held all the financial statements I had worked on while I was at my parents’ the night before. And I slid it across the counter for him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together as he pulled out the papers.

“Read it,” I said, my voice firm. “It’s a bill. For everything I do here that goes unnoticed by you.”

He scanned the document, his eyes widening with each line.

“Jo, this is a lot,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “And it’s time that we rethink how we manage our home and respect each other, Brandon.”

He nodded.

“I’m taking the kids to the grocery store because we need food,” I said, looking into the fridge to make sure that my husband hadn’t done any shopping.

“Do you want me to come?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “You can finish up here. I’m sure that there’s laundry to be done, too.”

When the kids were ready, I got them strapped into the car and set off. I felt better, knowing that everything was out in the open. I knew that Brandon felt dejected, but I couldn’t be responsible for his feelings.

It was about more than my husband’s feelings.

The kids enjoyed their ice cream cones as I dragged them around the grocery store, almost happy to be back to my routine.

When we walked through the door later, my arms laden with shopping bags, the smell of dinner wafted through to us.

“You cooked,” I said to Brandon, who was mixing through a pot of pasta.

“I want to do more, Jo,” he said. “I want to be part of the kids’ lives like you are, not just someone to fill in their basic needs when you’re gone. When you took them out now, they didn’t even ask me to come with.”

I knew my husband had finally learned his lesson.

“I just want to make life easier for you, too,” he said, plating the pasta. “I’ll do better.”

We all sat down for dinner together in a clean house, which was exactly what I had wanted the day before.

I think everything will be better now.

What would you do?