We invited my sister-in-law’s family on our lake trip—if they paid their own way. Then her husband, Todd, quit his job. I assumed they wouldn’t come. Two weeks later, my wife said they were still joining. My coffee went down hard.
At the lake house, Todd lounged in a Hawaiian shirt, sipping beer, while I organized groceries, meals, and activities for ten people. Melissa helped a little. Todd claimed he’d grill or watch the kids, but mostly disappeared on solo kayak trips. I carried the weight, frustrated and exhausted.
On day four, a thunderstorm trapped us inside. Surprisingly, Todd took charge with the kids—animated, patient, funny. For the first time, I glimpsed another side of him.
Later, when my wife left to help her parents, Todd failed to run errands, citing a need for space. We confronted each other; he admitted he’d been depressed, lost, and avoiding responsibility.
The next morning, he stepped up: cooked, cleaned, engaged with the kids. By the trip’s end, he apologized, committed to therapy and work.
That vacation taught me patience, grace, and that sometimes people need a storm to reset and find their way.
