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I Returned from a Business Trip and Discovered My Son’s Sketch Featuring His ‘New Mommy’ – The Woman Depicted Was Familiar from the Cafe

Let me share how a simple drawing turned my world upside down. I’m Harper, and it all started when I stumbled upon a picture my son drew, featuring himself and someone I didn’t recognize. What followed was a series of events that changed my life forever.

I’ve never been good at being away from my family. Working one week a month in a different city was supposed to be a great career move, but I find myself missing my husband Shawn and my son Marcus more than I ever thought possible.

Every time I step off that plane and see their smiling faces waiting for me, it feels like coming home after a long, exhausting journey. This time was no different.

I returned home late Friday night and was welcomed with hugs and kisses. Shawn had made my favorite lasagna, and Marcus had a new drawing to show me. My heart swelled with love and contentment. Little did I know, that was about to change.

Saturday morning, I decided to do some cleaning. With a cup of coffee in one hand and my hair tied up in a messy bun, I made my way to Marcus’ room.

It was a typical eight-year-old’s room: toys scattered everywhere, crayons on the floor, and stacks of papers with his various drawings. I started picking up and smiling at the doodles of dinosaurs, rockets, and family portraits. Then I saw it.

A drawing titled “Me and my new Mommy.” My heart stopped. NEW MOMMY? My hands shook as I stared at the picture. It was Marcus, smiling brightly, holding hands with a woman who was definitely not me. She had blonde hair and wore big, red earrings.

“No way… Shawn wouldn’t… would he?” I muttered to myself, feeling my eyes sting with tears. I slumped onto Marcus’ bed, clutching the picture. The thought of Shawn cheating on me and introducing our son to another woman felt like a punch to the gut.

I was about to spiral into a full-blown panic when I noticed something else in the picture. There, in Marcus’ innocent handwriting, was the name of our favorite family cafe: “At Jack’s.”

I had to know the truth. There was no way I could sit on this information. I wiped my tears and took a deep breath. I needed a plan.

“Hey Shawn,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady as I walked into the living room where he was reading. “How about we go out for brunch tomorrow? Maybe At Jack’s?”

Shawn looked up from his book, a smile spreading across his face. “Sounds great, Harper. It’s been a while since we went there together.”

The next day, we headed to the cafe. Marcus was excited, chattering about pancakes and syrup. On the other hand, I felt like I was walking towards my doom. My mind raced with thoughts of confronting this mysterious “new mommy” and what it would mean for our family.

We arrived at the cafe, and I scanned the room, my heart pounding. We sat at our usual table, and I tried to act normal, though my mind was anything but. I kept glancing around, hoping I was wrong. And then, I saw her.

The woman from Marcus’ drawing. She had the same blonde hair and those distinctive red earrings. She was a waitress, carrying a tray of coffee cups, and she noticed us almost immediately. My stomach twisted into knots. She walked over to our table, a warm smile on her face.

“Good morning! What can I get for you folks today?” she asked cheerily.

I took a deep breath and looked at Marcus, who was eagerly flipping through the menu. “Honey, is that your ‘new mommy?’” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

Marcus looked up, his eyes wide. “Yes, that’s Jessica!”

Shawn’s face turned crimson. “How did you…”

Jessica smiled even broader, kneeling to Marcus’ level. “Tell her, Marcus. She needs to know what you feel.”

“What do you mean?” Shawn asked, looking genuinely confused.

“Oh, stop, as if you don’t know,” I snapped, pulling out the picture from my purse. “About this.”

Shawn looked bewildered as I handed him the drawing. “It’s Marcus’.”

He took the picture, his brow furrowing. “Again, please. What’s happening?”

I felt a wave of frustration and hurt wash over me. “I found this yesterday while cleaning Marcus’ room. I saw the name of this cafe and had to know what was going on. Marcus called her his ‘new mommy.’”

“But it’s nonsense,” Shawn said, shaking his head. He turned to Marcus, trying to keep his voice calm. “Marcus, buddy, tell your mom.”

Marcus looked up at me, his big brown eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and honesty. He pointed to Jessica, the waitress. “I wish she were my mommy.”

My heart sank. “But why, honey?”

Marcus glanced at Jessica, who gave him an encouraging nod. “You’re missing all the time. But Jessica is so kind to me. She brings me pancakes with funny faces on them. She likes my drawings.”

Jessica knelt beside Marcus, her face soft and understanding. “He showed me this picture. What did I tell you, Marcus?”

“To speak to Mom and tell her what I feel,” Marcus replied, his voice small but sincere.

At that moment, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. They streamed down my face as I realized how much my little boy needed me. He needed his mom, not just physically, but emotionally. I was always gone, always working, and he found comfort in someone else because I wasn’t there.

I knelt and pulled Marcus into a tight hug, feeling his small arms wrap around me. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t know you felt this way. I promise I’ll do better.”

Shawn put a hand on my shoulder, his voice softening. “Harper, you’re a great mom. We just need to figure out a way to make this work.”

I nodded, still holding Marcus close. “I’ll talk to my boss. I’ll quit these trips if I have to. You’re more important than my job, Marcus. I promise I’ll be here for you.”

Jessica stood up, giving us some space. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted Marcus to feel happy and safe while he was here.”

I wiped my tears and managed a small smile. “Thank you, Jessica. You’ve been really kind to him. I appreciate it.”

As we finished our brunch, the tension slowly melted away. We talked and laughed, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I needed to be there for my family, no matter what.

When we got home, I immediately called my boss. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but I explained that I needed to stop the business trips. My boss was surprisingly understanding, and we worked out a new arrangement that allowed me to stay home more.

That evening, as I tucked Marcus into bed, he looked up at me with a sleepy smile. “Are you really going to be home more, Mommy?”

I kissed his forehead, my heart swelling with love. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m going to be here with you every day. No more long trips.”

He hugged me tightly. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, Marcus. More than anything in the world.”

Shawn joined us, sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms around both of us. “We’re a team, remember? We’ll figure everything out together.”

As I lay in bed that night, Shawn’s arms around me, I felt a deep sense of peace. Our family was stronger than ever, and I knew we could face anything as long as we were together. The drawing that had once filled me with fear now reminded me of the importance of being present.

And from that day on, I made a promise to myself to always put my family first. Because no job, no matter how important, could ever compare to the love we shared.

My Husband Refused to Buy a New Washing Machine and Told Me to Wash Everything by Hand — Because He Promised His Mom a Vacation Instead

Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry, and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke. But instead of helping, he shrugged and said, “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”

I never thought I’d spend this much time doing laundry.

A tired woman in a chair | Source: Pexels

Six months ago, I gave birth to our first baby. Since then, my life had turned into a never-ending cycle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, cooking, and washing. So much washing. Babies go through more clothes in a day than an entire football team.

On a good day, I washed at least eight pounds of tiny onesies, burp cloths, blankets, and bibs. On a bad day? Let’s just say I stopped counting.

A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels

So when the washing machine broke, I knew I was in trouble.

I had just pulled out a soaking pile of clothes when it sputtered, let out a sad grinding noise, and died. I pressed the buttons. Nothing. I unplugged it, plugged it back in. Nothing.

My heart sank.

When Billy got home from work, I wasted no time.

A tired puzzled woman | Source: Pexels

“The washing machine is dead,” I said as soon as he stepped through the door. “We need a new one.”

Billy barely looked up from his phone. “Huh?”

“I said the washing machine broke. We need to replace it. Soon.”

He nodded absently, kicked off his shoes, and scrolled through his screen. “Yeah. Not this month.”

A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels

I blinked. “What?”

“Not this month,” he repeated. “Maybe next month when I get my salary. Three weeks.”

I felt my stomach twist. “Billy, I can’t go three weeks without a washing machine. The baby’s clothes need to be cleaned properly every day.”

A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels

Billy sighed like I was asking for something unreasonable. He put his phone down and stretched his arms over his head. “Look, I already promised to pay for my mom’s vacation this month. She really deserves it.”

I stared at him. “Your mom’s vacation?”

“Yeah. She’s been babysitting for us. I thought it’d be nice to do something for her.”

Babysitting?

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

I swallowed hard. His mother came over once a month. She sat on the couch, watched TV, ate the dinner I cooked, and took a nap while the baby slept. That wasn’t babysitting. That was visiting.

Billy kept talking like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “She said she needed a break, so I figured I’d cover her trip. It’s just for a few days.”

A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels

I crossed my arms. “Billy, your mom doesn’t babysit. She comes over, eats, naps, and goes home.”

He frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, really? When was the last time she changed a diaper?”

Billy opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s not the point.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I think it is.”

A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, can’t you just wash everything by hand for now? People used to do that for centuries. Nobody died from it.”

I stared at him, feeling my blood boil. Wash everything by hand. Like I wasn’t already drowning in work, exhausted, aching, and running on three hours of sleep a night.

An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels

I took a slow, deep breath, my hands clenching into fists. I wanted to yell, to scream, to make him understand how unfair this was. But I knew Billy. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind.

I exhaled and looked at the pile of dirty clothes stacked by the door. Fine. If he wanted me to wash everything by hand, then that’s exactly what I’d do.

The first load wasn’t so bad.

A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels

I filled the bathtub with soapy water, dropped in the baby’s clothes, and started scrubbing. My arms ached, but I told myself it was temporary. Just a few weeks.

By the third load, my back was screaming. My fingers were raw. And I still had towels, bedsheets, and Billy’s work clothes waiting for me.

A tired woman sitting near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney

Every day was the same. Wake up, feed the baby, clean, cook, do laundry by hand, wring it out, hang it up. By the time I was done, my hands were swollen, my shoulders stiff, and my body exhausted.

Billy didn’t notice.

A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels

He came home, kicked off his shoes, ate the dinner I cooked, and stretched out on the couch. I could barely hold a spoon, but he never once asked if I needed help. Never looked at my hands, red and cracked from hours of scrubbing.

One night, after I’d finished washing another pile of clothes, I collapsed onto the couch next to him. I winced as I rubbed my aching fingers.

Billy glanced at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

A tired woman on her couch | Source: Pexels

I stared at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

He shrugged. “You look tired.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just turned back to the TV. That was the moment something snapped inside me.

An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels

Billy wasn’t going to understand—not unless he felt the inconvenience himself. If he wanted me to live like a 19th-century housewife, then fine. He could live like a caveman.

So I planned my revenge.

The next morning, I packed his lunch as usual. Except instead of the big, hearty meal he expected, I filled his lunchbox with stones. Right on top, I placed a folded note.

A lunchbox filled with rocks | Source: Midjourney

Then I kissed his cheek and sent him off to work.

And I waited.

At exactly 12:30 PM, Billy stormed through the front door, red-faced and furious.

“What the hell have you done?!” he shouted, slamming his lunchbox onto the counter.

I turned from the sink, wiping my hands on a towel. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

A laughing woman in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney

He flipped open the lid, revealing the pile of rocks. He grabbed the note and read it out loud.

“Men used to get food for their families themselves. Go hunt your meal, make fire with stones, and fry it.”

His face twisted in rage. “Are you out of your damn mind, Shirley? I had to open this in front of my coworkers!”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, so public humiliation is bad when it happens to you?”

A shouting man wearing glasses | Source: Pexels

Billy clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to yell, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Go on, Billy. Tell me how this is different.”

His jaw tightened. “Shirley, this is—this is just childish.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I see. So your suffering is real, but mine is just me being childish?”

An angry woman lecturing her husband | Source: Pexels

He threw his hands in the air. “You could have just talked to me!”

I stepped forward, fire burning in my chest. “Talked to you? I did, Billy. I told you I couldn’t go three weeks without a washing machine. I told you I was exhausted. And you shrugged and told me to do it by hand. Like I was some woman from the 1800s!”

A woman turning away from her husband | Source: Pexels

His nostrils flared, but I could see the tiny flicker of guilt creeping in. He knew I was right.

I pointed at his lunchbox. “You thought I’d just take it, huh? That I’d wash and scrub and break my back while you sat on that couch every night without a care in the world?”

Billy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

A sad man clutching his head | Source: Pexels

I shook my head. “I’m not a servant, Billy. And I’m sure as hell not your mother.”

Silence. Then, finally, he muttered, “I get it.”

“Do you?” I asked.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. I do.”

A tired man rubbing his temples | Source: Pexels

I watched him for a long moment, letting his words settle. Then I turned back to the sink. “Good,” I said, rinsing off my hands. “Because I meant it, Billy. If you ever put your mother’s vacation over my basic needs again, you’d better learn how to start a fire with those rocks.”

Billy sulked for the rest of the evening.

An angry man in a hoodie | Source: Pexels

He barely touched his dinner. He didn’t turn on the TV. He sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed him. Every now and then, he sighed loudly, like I was supposed to feel bad for him.

I didn’t.

For once, he was the one uncomfortable. He was the one who had to sit with the weight of his own choices. And I was perfectly fine letting him stew in it.