My son, Avi, promised his wife, Nari, to support their newborn, but three months in, he fled to my house, overwhelmed by the baby’s cries. Angry he’d abandoned Nari, I called his boss, exposing his absence. The next day, I gave him chores and took him back home. Nari, exhausted, handed over their colicky baby, Reva. I stayed to keep them steady.
Avi’s boss, likely moved by my call, offered four weeks’ paid paternity leave. Avi stepped up—diapers, feedings, lullabies—becoming a father. Nari’s stress eased; they became a team. Later, Nari’s thank-you note credited me for saving their family. Avi’s boss, reflecting on his own past, extended the leave to six weeks. At Reva’s first birthday, Avi was present, grounded. Nari and I now talk weekly. Parenthood isn’t mastered—it’s survived through showing up. Love sometimes means tough accountability.
