The Milk She Called Wasteful Chapter 1

At the end of the year, I came home late from work with a few bottles of premium milk and some fruit the company had handed out.

Ethan loved it. He kept telling me how good it was.

I laughed. "Of course it's good. That's ten dollars a bottle."

My wife heard me, and her face changed in an instant.

"Oh, that's wonderful. You get ten-dollar milk at the office, and your son and I are only good enough for the cheap stuff?"

I stared at her. I hadn't even drunk any of it. I'd saved it to bring home.

No matter how I explained, she wouldn't let it go.

Finally I lost my temper. "I make a quarter of a million dollars a year. What's wrong with me drinking that milk?"

"Without me," she said, "you and your son would be paying for tap water."

* * *

Lauren stared at me like she couldn't believe what she'd heard. Then her face twisted.

"Daniel, what did you just say? I gave you a son, and now you're throwing it in my face that I don't make money?

"Fine. If earning a paycheck makes you so important, I'm done waiting on you."

She pushed our tearful son toward me and stormed into the bedroom.

I held Ethan against my chest and took a slow breath. By the time I finally got him back to sleep, it was two in the morning.

I checked my phone and knew I wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.

Lauren and I had been married four years. Ethan was three.

When I first met her, she worked a basic office job. The pay was nothing special, and eventually she quit because she said she had no motivation left for it.

Since then, I'd supported the household.

I knew staying home with a small kid could wear a person down, so I transferred $4,000 to her every month for personal and household spending. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays - I still bought her gifts.

And now she was tearing into me over a bottle of milk.

I didn't understand what I'd done wrong.

The next day was my day off. Sometime near dawn, exhaustion finally knocked me out.

When I woke up, Ethan was sobbing beside me.

Lauren was gone.

So was her suitcase.

I called immediately. She didn't answer. A message came instead.

"I'm staying somewhere else for a couple of days. You take care of him."

"I work tomorrow," I typed back. "Come home and we'll talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

After that, she stopped replying.

I got Ethan calmed down, then called my parents and asked whether they could come help with him.

When my father heard Lauren had left, he frowned.

"Did you two fight? She's home with the kid every day. You have to understand that gets tiring."

Mom smacked his arm.

"Tiring? The boy is in preschool now. Before that, I was here half the week helping. Lauren spends more time shopping and booking beauty appointments than taking care of anybody.

"Our son works until eleven or midnight and still comes home to this."

I stayed quiet.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right.

After Ethan was born, my mother had helped constantly. We'd even hired a night nurse, and later a babysitter when things got hectic.

Lauren's priorities had been shopping, getting back in shape, and whatever appointment she had booked next.

If she'd truly been overwhelmed, I hadn't seen much sign of it beyond making Ethan's food once in a while.

I waved Mom and Dad down before they could start in on each other.

Then I sat down and went through my finances.

We still owed about $400,000 on the mortgage. At the rate I was earning, I could wipe that out in a few years.

I had around $80,000 in savings under my own name.

As for Lauren, I had no idea. The money I gave her was hers, and I'd never asked for an accounting.

By lunchtime, Lauren was back.

Her parents were with her.

Ethan was eating when the front door opened. Lauren stepped inside, saw me, and immediately looked uncomfortable.

Patricia didn't hesitate.

"Daniel, I have to say something. You're out there living the good life, doing whatever you please, while my daughter stays home running your household. You get expensive milk and they get the cheap kind?

"And this is what you call treating her well?"

Lauren glared at me.

"Exactly. And if he brings anything home, it's only because he didn't finish it at work. Who knows what he's keeping for himself?"

Before I could answer, Mom came out of the kitchen with a cold smile.

"My son works himself sick supporting this family, and now he needs permission to drink milk?

"At what he earns, he could drink a forty-dollar bottle if he wanted. And if his health gives out, is your daughter going back to work? Or will she still have time for facials?"

Lauren and Patricia both froze.

They clearly hadn't realized my parents were there.

Dad came in from the back patio.

"The two of them can handle their marriage themselves," he said. "But this argument is ridiculous. Daniel is the one keeping this family afloat. Four dollars for milk is not a family crisis."

Patricia softened her tone at once.

"That's not what we meant."

Dad waved her off.

"I don't care what you meant. We're not getting in the middle of it. Daniel, it's your marriage. You decide what you can live with."