I was three days into a work trip when I got a message from my 10-year-old son, Jake: “Mom, Dad and Tommy ate first, and I got to eat what was left. Is that normal?” My heart sank. Jake was eating leftovers, while my husband, Mark, and our younger son had “special time.”
I immediately called Jake, and he confirmed: Mark had said he could eat with his “real dad” if he wanted more time. I booked the first flight home.
Once there, I confronted Mark. Over dinner, I made a point: “Where’s my plate?” Mark asked. “You can eat when we’re done,” I replied coldly. “Just like Jake did.”
Later, I made it clear: “Jake is part of this family. If you ever treat him like he’s second-best again, we’re done.” Mark finally understood.
The next morning, he made breakfast for both boys, trying to rebuild trust. It was a start, but I wasn’t ready to forgive just yet.
