I was down with the flu—102°F fever, chills, body aches, coughing nonstop—and trying to care for our 6-month-old on zero energy. My husband Drew? Completely useless.

The night I begged him to hold the baby so I could lie down, he looked at me and said, “I can’t. Your cough is keeping me up. I NEED SLEEP. I think I’m going to go stay at my mom’s for a few nights.”

He packed a bag and walked out, didn’t even ask how I’d manage alone with the baby while I could barely stand

When I texted him, shocked, he replied: “You’re the mom. You know how to handle this stuff. Your cough is unbearable anyway.”

I survived the weekend. Barely. But while I was burning up in bed, I started planning. If he thought being sick and abandoned was no big deal… I was going to show him what it really felt like.

One week later, I texted: “Hey babe, I’m better now. You can come home.”

He came back. Smiling. Relaxed.

Poor man had no idea he was walking into a TRAP.

When Drew stepped through the door, I greeted him with a sweet smile and a spotless living room. The baby was napping, the house smelled of lavender candles, and soft jazz played in the background.

“Glad to have you back,” I said, kissing his cheek. “I made your favorite dinner.”

He beamed. “Wow, this is nice. I missed you, babe.”

We ate, we talked, and just when he looked like he was settling back into his comfortable life, I set my plan in motion.

As soon as we finished eating, I faked a yawn and stretched. “Ugh, I’m so exhausted. Taking care of everything alone really drained me. You don’t mind watching the baby tonight, do you?”

Drew’s face froze mid-smile. “Wait, tonight?”

“Yes,” I said sweetly. “I need a full night’s sleep. You understand, right? I mean, YOU left because MY coughing kept you up. And since I had to manage while sick, I figured you’d be happy to take over now.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Fine. One night.”

I smirked. Oh, you poor, naive man.

At exactly 2 AM, I woke him up. “Drew, the baby’s crying.”

He groaned. “Can’t you—”

“Nope,” I interrupted. “I handled everything while I was sick. Now it’s your turn.”

I rolled over and pretended to sleep while he stumbled out of bed.

At 3 AM, I shook him awake again. “The baby needs a diaper change.”

He muttered something under his breath but got up.

At 5 AM, I shook him again. “She’s hungry. Go make a bottle.”

By 7 AM, Drew looked like a zombie. Dark circles, unshaven face, the works. I, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and well-rested. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”