For weeks, I watched my husband Henry drop everything whenever his ex, Liz, called\u2014broken sink, squeaky door, even tiny issues\u2014while our own faucet dripped for a month. Each time I asked him to fix it, he promised, \u201cThis weekend,\u201d but the weekend never came.<\/p>\n
One night, when Liz called about a \u201cflooded kitchen,\u201d I decided to go with him. When we arrived, Liz greeted us in a silk robe, perfectly styled, her voice dripping with charm. I stayed calm, handed her a folded paper listing plumbers, electricians, gardeners\u2014and at the bottom, a dating app suggestion circled in red.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you keep calling my husband,\u201d I said sweetly, \u201cI\u2019ll assume you can\u2019t read.\u201d She flushed crimson, speechless. On the drive home, Henry admitted, \u201cYou\u2019re right\u2014she\u2019s taking advantage of me,\u201d and promised to set boundaries.<\/p>\n
Three months later, Liz had a new man\u2014ironically, one of the plumbers from my list\u2014and Henry finally fixed our faucet, showed up for our anniversary, and learned where his loyalty truly belonged. Now, the toolbox comes out only for our home\u2014and for me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"