My husband, Cole, refused to change our baby’s diapers. “It’s not a man’s job,” he said, rolling over as I stood there, sleep-deprived and heartbroken, with our daughter wailing in the next room. That night, I didn’t argue.
I handled Rosie’s messy blowout on my own. But in the quiet of the nursery, I made a decision. If words couldn’t shake him, maybe someone else could.
Walter, who abandoned Cole as a child, had one mission: to show his son what it costs to step away from fatherhood. “You think changing diapers isn’t your job? I said the same thing.
And I lost everything,” Walter said, eyes heavy with regret. “Don’t be me.”
“I talked to my mom today,” he said finally. “She said Dad was around until I was five, but he’d checked out long before. I don’t want to be him.
But I’m afraid I already am.” “You’re not,” I said. “You’re still here. You want to do better.
That matters.” The next morning, I walked into Rosie’s room and saw Cole changing her diaper, making silly voices and coaxing giggles out of her. “Princess,” he said, “don’t let anyone tell you what a man’s job is.” Later, he asked if Walter could come to dinner. “I want Rosie to know her grandfather,” he said.
“I’m still angry, but…
I don’t want to repeat his mistakes.” It’s not perfect. Healing takes time. But one diaper at a time, we’re learning.
And sometimes, love means holding up a mirror—and choosing to be better than the example you were given.
