I just got home from a late night at work. It was a personal record, I left the office at 11:35 pm. I volunteered to work on projects we needed completed out of nowhere overnight.

I gave up my time because my coworkers have ladies and wives to go home to, they don’t need to stay if I can handle it.

I know that role. I was that fiancé/wife, constantly texting him, asking what his ETA was, trying to keep dinner warm, twiddling my thumbs—waiting, because seeing him completed my day and since his was so rough, I wanted to be there to welcome him home.

So I volunteer, cause I know what its like to be the one waiting at home.

But somewhere during my cab ride home on the Williamsburg bridge, in the rain at midnight, I fucking lost it. Tears started streaming down my face.

FUCCCCK. STOP. NOW.

I held it together up until the second I got into the shower, then I cliché sobbed pretty fucking hard. It was my turn to sacrifice part of my personal life to supplement my career and there was no one waiting for me. No one was texting me about my whereabouts, figuring out if I still needed dinner… nothing.

I came home to no one. I know this, thats why I volunteered anyway.

But for a minute, I remembered… Listening for him to turn the key to the door, putting down my laptop and acting like I fell asleep on the couch (it never fooled him), then getting up super fast and putting his meal in the microwave while he changed out of his work clothes. I never considered myself super domesticated, but I was. I was just a good fucking wife. Then I let him vent for however long he needed to, it was always some bullshit at work…

He had me.

But now its my turn… and well… I’m solo.

These tiny fucking violins need to go away. Wahhhhhhh.