When I told him I was pregnant, he stared at the test for what felt like minutes. The silence stretched between us until I started to worry.
“Twins?” he finally said.
“Then this settles it.”
“Settles what?” I asked.
“You need to quit your job,” he said, like it was the most natural conclusion in the world. “Why would you work? I make enough.
You should stay home.”
I laughed at first. “I like my job.”
He leaned back in his chair, calm and certain, the way he always was when he’d already made up his mind.
“And I like knowing my wife isn’t stressed. Twins are hard work.
You’ll thank me later.”
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