A provider! Yes, that’s what my boyfriend wanted to be called. He was the one working and earning, and he made sure I was aware of that.
I was 26 and pregnant with twins. Honestly, when that test turned out to be positive, I thought things would be different, even a bit better maybe, if I was lucky enough.
Briggs wouldn’t stop bragging how he was “taking care of us,” and I don’t know why, but he somehow convinced me to move in with him, telling me over and over again that I needed him and that I couldn’t do anything without him.
His words always sounded like he was providing something holy for me and our unborn girls, but the truth was that he was only offering leverage.
“What’s mine is ours,” he’d say, “Just don’t forget to earns it.” And with him saying this every single day, there was not even a chance I forgot I was the one staying home and not bringing any money.
Over time, his words started feeling heavy. At first, I was just telling myself it’s who he is, and he’s just joking, although deep down, I knew he wasn’t.
“You slept all day!”
“You are hungry again? Do you ever do anything else except for eating?”
“You are the one who wanted kids. Didn’t you know what comes with it?”
I heard remarks like these every single day.
And it wasn’t only what he said, but how he said it. He’d never put that smirk off his face. Always getting loud when there were people around. It felt like he needed audience whenever he spoke to me about me being lazy, despite me being heavily pregnant, or that I should be grateful he was the one earning money.
When I was ten weeks pregnant and struggled with nausea and swelling, Briggs didn’t care. He still dragged me to his work stops like I was an accessory.
“Coming?” he called once as I tried to stand, dizzy and slow. “I can’t have people thinking I don’t have my life together.”
“They care how you look, not me,” I said, breathless.
“They care that I run my home,” he replied. “You’re part of the image.”
Inside the warehouse, my ankles screamed, but still, Briggs shoved a box into my arms without looking.
“If you’re here, you can help,” he said without even looking at me. And honestly, I didn’t have the strength to argue.
The driving took five hours and four quick stops. But no food. I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day and I was really hungry.
“I need to eat,” I said, and that’s when Briggs started laughing. “Is there anything else you do? Like ever?” he screamed.
“But I’m pregnant with twins,” I said, almost crying.
“Didn’t you have a banana in the morning? Stop acting like you are special.”
“Please,” I said. So he finally agreed but exhaled as if I’d asked for an Eastern European spa. He then drove up to a rundown greasy spoon with smudged windows and sticky tables. I wasn’t bothered because sitting up was a win.
I shut my eyes as I slid into the booth and imagined my girls—Mia and Maya—safe and snug. Their names had seemed like a vow.
The waitress, Dottie, smiled gently at us.
Briggs intervened before she could speak. “Order something cheap.”
I looked up at the menu and ordered the Cobb salad. Five bucks. I though I needed some proteins, something safe.
Briggs laughed out loud. “Well, must be nice, spending money you didn’t make.”
My face burned. “It’s five dollars,” I said. “I have to eat—for the babies.”
“Well, five dollars adds up when you don’t work.”
What’s worse, everyone around listened. And I was so embarrassed.
When Dottie returned, she brough crackers and iced tea before I could refuse. And then, when the salad arrived, there was grilled chicken on top which I hadn’t ordered.
“That’s on me,” Dottie said. “I’ve been where you are.”
Briggs barely touched his food. He threw cash on the table and stormed out. In the car, he snapped. “Charity makes me look bad. Why would you let anyone pity you?”
“I just let someone be kind,” I said through tears.
That night he returned home quiet and shaken. There was a client complaint and he was being pulled from meetings. His company card was revoked.
“Over nothing,” he grumbled.
“There is now just maybe people are hearing us, and listened how you made fun of me for a Cobb Salad,” I said, but he didn’t respond.
In the days to come he ignored me completely, so I decided to change things and started calling old friends.
One morning, after he slammed the door, I went back to the diner. Dottie was there to greet me. “You can’t build a life on maybe,” she said. “Especially with twins.”
In my car, I made my prenatal appointment, then texted Briggs: “You don’t get to shame me for eating! I’m going back to my sister’s. I want peace, and you are no longer part of my future.”
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
