The Husband She Took for Granted

I walked out of Vivian Hart's office, returned to my desk, and submitted a request for every remaining day of vacation I had.

I'd decided I was done holding the company together, but that didn't mean I'd leave a mess behind. I put together a thorough handover: client updates, project risks, contact information for every account lead. I even included a note that Mr. Bennett at Halstead Group hated receiving calls during lunch.

Marcus Reed from HR spotted the email and came straight over.

"Adrian, you're really taking all that time off?"

"Yeah. Family stuff."

"Does Vivian know?"

I closed my laptop. "Time off goes through HR. I don't have to notify her separately."

Those were Vivian's own rules.

Three years earlier, when she introduced formal management procedures, she'd made a point of saying everyone had to follow the same process, including me. After the meeting, she'd pulled me aside.

"You don't need to tell me personally when you request leave anymore. I don't want anyone saying we're mixing marriage with business."

So I muted the work chats and went to the hospital.

Mom had just finished her IV treatment. When I entered, she was leaning over the side of her bed, trying to reach her water bottle. I hurried over and handed it to her.

Instead of smiling, she frowned.

"What are you doing here again? Don't you have work?"

"I took some vacation days. I'll stay with you for a while."

"I've got doctors and nurses. What good will you do sitting around here?" She waved me off, then asked, "Where's Viv?"

"She's busy. Couldn't get away."

I'd been saying that for six years.

During our first year starting the company, we couldn't leave it unattended. The second year was all about raising capital. In the third, we were launching a major product. Eventually, every department had its own manager, yet we still hadn't gone home for the holidays once.

Mom never complained. She just mailed care packages and homemade treats, along with the same reminder every time.

"Viv's building something important. Try to understand."

When I didn't respond, Mom studied me.

"Did you two have a fight?"

"No."

"You've always been like this. The bigger the problem, the less you'll say about it." She sighed. "Married people can work through disagreements. But one person can't always be the one giving in. And nobody gets to take another person's kindness for granted."

I stared at the silver hair around her temples.

Vivian's words came back to me: You're my husband. You should be willing to put up with a little unfairness.

My mother understood something Vivian apparently couldn't.

"I'm just tired, Mom," I admitted quietly.

For the first time in six years, I didn't make excuses for my wife.

My phone rang. Vivian.

I stepped into the hallway to answer.

"You're using all your vacation days?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"We have a meeting with Halstead this afternoon. Product development is waiting for you to approve their proposal, too."

"Everything's in the handover. Leo can sit in on the meeting."

A pause. "Are you still sulking about your bonus?"

"I'm at the hospital with Mom."

"There are medical professionals at the hospital. You can hire an aide if you need one. Come back for the meeting, then visit her tonight. You'll have time for both."

Her voice was calm, almost helpful, as though she'd worked out a perfectly reasonable schedule.

I used to admire her practicality. Now I understood that she simply considered my family less important than her company.

"We'll see."

"Adrian, you're a deputy director. You can't bring personal feelings into work."

"I'm taking approved vacation. Was there anything else?"

She hung up without answering.