The decision had already been made without me. He had spoken with his mother, arranged everything, and simply informed me afterward as if I were part of the household staff.
“You can work from home anyway,” he added while returning his attention to his phone. “Your schedule is flexible.”
“Calvin, I do not run my own business,” I said patiently. “I work for a corporation with deadlines, meetings, and responsibilities.”
He frowned as if the concept were difficult for him to understand.
“Well you know what I mean. A man cannot take care of an elderly woman. That is not a man’s role.”
Not a man’s role.
Yet living comfortably on my income while he spent the last three years “exploring his creative identity” in freelance illustration apparently fit his definition of masculinity perfectly. The mortgage, daycare fees, groceries, utilities, and health insurance had all been covered by my salary during that time, and now he expected me to sacrifice the career that supported our entire household.
“And what happens if I do not agree,” I asked softly.
Calvin stared at me as if I had spoken a completely ridiculous sentence.