My name’s Olivia. I’m 36, a mom of two, and the kind of woman who can rock a screaming baby with one arm while firing off work emails with the other.

Mark, my husband, likes to call me “the backbone of the family.” It’s sweet, I guess, except some days it feels less like I’m the backbone and more like I’m the entire skeleton holding everything together while he floats through life collecting compliments.

We’ve been married for over a decade now, and I know him better than anyone.

He’s charming and funny, the kind of guy who can work a room with a story and leave everyone laughing. But there’s this other side to my husband, this need to be praised constantly, to be seen as the hero of every narrative.

It’s not dangerous narcissism, just exhausting sometimes.

Mark’s a good father, don’t get me wrong. Most of the time. Except lately I’ve been running on autopilot with our six-month-old daughter. Picture endless bottles, diaper changes at 3 a.m., the kind of sleep deprivation that makes you forget what day it is.

Meanwhile, Mark sleeps through the night like he’s got earplugs made of concrete and wakes up complaining if his coffee isn’t strong enough.

So when he started obsessing over his 40th birthday months in advance, I should’ve seen the red flags waving.

“Liv, turning 40 is huge,” he’d say at least once a week. “I want to celebrate properly this year.”

By “properly,” he meant a four-day luxury vacation with his closest friends. No kids, no wives, just sunshine, beer, and whatever midlife crisis activities grown men do when they’re left unsupervised.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. I had spit-up in my hair and bags under my eyes that could carry groceries. A vacation sounded amazing… for me. I was managing everything at once.

But apparently, turning 40 gave my husband amnesia about having responsibilities.

I tried to be gentle when I brought it up.

“Mark, I’m exhausted. Between the baby, school drop-offs for our older one, and trying to keep up with work from home… I can barely plan a grocery list right now. I really can’t handle planning an entire trip on top of everything else.”

He smiled that smile that used to make my heart flutter and kissed my forehead.

“Of course, baby. I’d never ask you to do that.”

I thought that was the end of it. Wrong.

A week later, he appeared in the living room with that look — the puppy-dog but also slightly manipulative expression he gets when he wants something big.

“Liv, baby, I need a tiny favor.”

I should’ve known right then. His “tiny favors” are never tiny.

He sat down next to me on the couch while I was pumping milk. Perfect timing, as always. And he launched into his pitch.

“Okay, so the guys and I found this incredible resort. It’s oceanfront, all-inclusive, really classy. But there’s this problem with my credit card.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of problem?”