When I picked up Danny from school, the house was a disaster. I expected complaints. Instead, he calmly said, “Let’s clean up.” I watched in shock as my six-year-old confidently used the washing machine and loaded the dishwasher. “Mom taught me,” he said.

That’s when it hit me—I hadn’t been helping Lucy. I’d just been watching her drown in daily chores while I sat back, just like my father used to.The next night, when Lucy asked if I wanted to help with dinner, I didn’t hesitate. I finally understood.It wasn’t her job. It was our job.