Plates with dried food were scattered everywhere. Flies hovered over leftovers on the table. Crumbs were pressed deep into the carpet. Takeout containers were piled near the couch. And on the coffee table, there was even a used tissue.
It didn’t look like a home anymore.
“Sam,” I called out, my voice shaking, “what is this?”
He barely looked up from the couch.
“This is your mess,” he said. “I told you—you should’ve come back sooner. Nobody’s been cleaning.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I had just gone through one of the most physically exhausting experiences of my life… and he was blaming me for a mess he had created.
Before I could respond, one of the babies started crying. I rushed into the bedroom, trying to calm her down, holding back everything I was feeling.
That’s when my phone buzzed.
Sam had posted on Instagram.
