It was a Wednesday evening in our small kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet.
My husband cleared his throat, his voice breaking the silence.
“I think you should quit your job. For the family.”
The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on me.
I glanced at him, trying to decipher the intent behind the statement.
Was it love? Responsibility? Sacrifice?
The knot in my chest tightened.
We had talked about my job before, casually and without pressure.
But tonight, his words felt different, laden with unspoken expectations.
“We’ve talked about this before,” I replied, my voice careful, measured.
