“Jordan,” I said, my voice quieter now.
“I get it. I do. But do you know what’s worse than telling your mom ‘no’?
Telling your children that their father wouldn’t even buy food for them.”
His gaze snapped up to meet mine.
“I didn’t think of it like that.”
“Well, you should,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Look, I know money is tight. But we’re a team, Jordan.
You don’t get to decide these things alone, and you damn sure don’t get to put your mom before your own kids.”
He swallowed hard, nodding slowly.
“You’re right,” he admitted.
I sat across from him, reaching for his hand.
“Next time? Talk to me. No more cutting back on food, no more making me the bad guy.
We’ll figure it out together.”
Jordan’s fingers tightened around mine.
I could hear the kids’ alarm clock going off, the little monsters would be storming the kitchen soon.
“Together,” Jordan replied.
“Now, would you like an omelet?” I asked.
My husband smiled at me, and just like that, we were okay again.
I didn’t think much about the conversation with Jordan after that. Things went back to normal, Jordan bought the groceries, the kids got their eggs, and I stopped serving him his “budget-friendly” dry toast breakfasts.
But then, last Friday, something unexpected happened.
I opened the fridge to grab some eggs for the boys’ breakfast and nearly dropped the carton in shock. Because instead of the usual two or three cartons I bought, there were six.
I turned to my husband, who was standing by the coffee maker, scrolling through his phone.
“Jordan?
All of this?” I asked. “Did you rob a farm or something?”
He glanced up, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I just figured that I’d stock up, you know? Make sure that we don’t run out again.”
I narrowed my eyes as I popped some bread into the toaster.
“And you were okay with that?”
“You made your point, Jules,” he said.
“Some things are non-negotiable. Like food. For our kids.
And honestly? I like eggs too.”
“Look at you, Jordan, learning and growing.”
My husband laughed loudly.
