A Week After We Moved in Together, He Handed Me a ‘House Uniform’—He Wasn’t Ready for What Came Next

He started to protest, to insist he married me for love, but I walked out of the room and went to bed.

Monday morning came, and Derek kissed me goodbye like nothing had happened. But when he returned that evening, he walked in the door pale and tight-lipped, dropping his keys with a clatter on the entry table.

“Rough day?” I asked from the couch where I sat in jeans and a t-shirt, laptop open on my knees.

“I got called into HR,” he said hoarsely. “Someone took your wife performance very seriously. They asked whether my ‘traditional values’ shaped how I treated women at work. The company is going through some ‘diversity audit,’ and they’re going to be watching me closely.”

I raised my eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Really? That’s terrible,” I said, not meaning it.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where the apron still hung.

“You win,” he said quietly. “I… I saw a lifestyle that looked good on the surface without realizing how harmful it was.”

I closed my laptop. “In that case, we both win. I get to wear pants again, and you’ll get to keep your job. By the way, I decided to get a remote job after all. I started applying to vacancies today.”

For a moment, I thought he might argue. Instead, he nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Mom always looked so happy in her role, I thought…”

“You thought I’d be happy, too, but I’m not her,” I finished for him.

That night, I took the uniform and stuffed it in the back of the closet.

Maybe someday we’d pull it out and laugh about it. Or maybe we’d burn it in the backyard. Either way, a smirk curled my lips as I turned away from the closet.

The scent of victory was sharper than lemon polish, and I wore it better than any uniform he could buy.