My phone vibrated on my desk.
Linda – Mother-in-Law.
I answered, expecting a quick check-in.
“Mark, did you grab the diaper bag from the porch? You forgot it when you picked up Leo,” she said, slightly out of breath.
My stomach dropped.
“Linda? It’s Sarah. Mark isn’t here. He’s at home with Leo.”
There was a pause. Long. Heavy.
“Oh,” she said softly. “I thought I was calling Mark. Never mind, dear.”
“Linda,” I said, my heart pounding. “Why would Mark pick Leo up? He’s been home with him all day. He’s a stay-at-home dad now. You know that. He sends me updates.”
She sighed — not confused, but sad.
“Sarah… Mark has been dropping Leo off at my house every morning at eight. For the past month. He picks him up at five. I cook dinner, too. And I come over Tuesdays and Thursdays to clean while he’s… gone.”
Everything clicked at once.
The spotless house.
The hot meals.
The smiling baby in photos.
All her.
“Where does he go?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He told me you knew. Said you asked me to help because you were worried he’d be overwhelmed. He claimed he spent the day looking for freelance work.”
I left my office immediately.
I didn’t go home.
I parked down the street and waited.
At 5:15 PM, Mark’s car pulled into the driveway. He stepped out looking relaxed — not exhausted, not stressed. Refreshed. He reached into the backseat, pulled out Leo’s carrier, then grabbed a foil-covered casserole.
At the front door, he paused. Messed up his hair. Untucked his shirt.
He was preparing for his role.
I walked up just as he opened the door.
“Hey babe!” he said brightly. “What a day. Leo was wild, and I scrubbed the bathroom, but I still managed to make your favorite lasagna.”
I looked at him.
Then at the casserole dish.
“Linda called,” I said.
The color vanished from his face. He didn’t argue. Didn’t lie. He just collapsed onto the couch.
The truth? He spent his days at a friend’s house playing video games, napping, and going to the gym. He wanted the praise of being a “hands-on dad” without doing the work. He wanted applause for effort he never made. He wanted me grateful.
Now he’s sleeping on his mother’s couch — for real this time.
Because pretending to parent is easy.
Explaining why you faked it isn’t.
