But inside, something in me hardened.

Over the next few days, Mark kept pressing. “You need to get a job,” he said. “And don’t think that means you’ll stop taking care of the kids and house. Millions of women work and still do everything at home. Why should you be any different? You’re not special, Maddy.”

I wanted to scream at him that I was already working—unpaid, unseen work, but work nonetheless. That taking care of three kids, keeping them fed, clothed, alive, and somewhat sane was a full-time job and then some. But he wouldn’t listen.