So that evening, while Henry crouched beneath her sink, I stepped forward and handed Liz a folded piece of paper.

My tone was calm, almost polite. “These are reliable repairmen,” I said evenly. “You can call them next time. Henry’s been too generous—but he’s also my husband. And he has a home that needs him.” Her slight smirk said everything she didn’t dare speak aloud, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to argue—I was here to reclaim balance.

On the drive home, Henry said nothing for a long time. Then, quietly, he admitted he hadn’t realized how much he’d let things slide. I placed a lawyer’s card on the dashboard not as a warn:ing, but as a sign that I was done being invisible.

That night changed everything. Months later, Liz has new people to call, our faucet finally runs smooth, and Henry has learned where his loyalty belongs. The real repair wasn’t under her sink—it was in our marriage.