I Heard Our Baby Crying While My Wife Watched TV – What I Found in His Room Left Me Screaming!

My wife was sitting nearby, addicted to her iPad, and my 3-year-old kid was weeping and splattered in red paint when I hurried out of the shower one evening. Feeling bewildered and frustrated, I quickly discovered a more serious problem: my wife’s ongoing quiet battle, which was threatening to destroy our family.

It was just another evening. Like she always did, my wife was sitting in the recliner and going through her iPad. I assumed the kids were in bed. I reasoned that now would be the ideal time for a lengthy, soothing shower.

As I stood beneath the steaming water, I heard a small whimper. I dismissed it at first, figuring it was nothing major. But suddenly the cry grew more urgent and louder.

My son, who is three years old, cried out, “Daddy! Daddy!” above the sound of flowing water.

I snatched up a towel, switched off the water, and hurried out. Upon entering the family room, I took a quick look at my spouse. She was still there, engrossed in her iPad and totally unaware of the commotion occurring in the adjacent room.

“You couldn’t calm him down?” With a stronger tone than I meant to, I asked.

She did not raise her gaze. She seemed bored as she replied, “I tried three times.”

Three times? Frustrated, I shook my head and rushed into my son’s room. Though nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed next, I was nonetheless prepared to console him.

As soon as I entered his room, I noticed him sitting upright in bed, his small frame quivering with grief. “Daddy, in between gasps, I made a mess,” he remarked.

I whispered, “It’s okay, buddy,” thinking it was only snot and tears. “We’ll clean it up.”

I moved in closer, snatching him up. Clinging to me closely, he continued to wail. I felt moisture trickle down my neck as his face was buried in my shoulder. I thought, ‘Poor guy, he’s been crying for so long. Subsequently, though, something felt off. It was too damp for his jammies.

After putting him back down, I reached for my phone to switch on the flashlight. That’s when I noticed it; everything was crimson. My heart stopped for a moment because I thought it was blood. I became motionless. However, upon closer inspection, I saw that it was not blood. It was paint in red.

“Where did this come from?” Whispering, I looked around the space. Then I noticed the red paint container open on the little table next to his crib. He and my wife had been painting animals the previous evening when he must have accidentally knocked over the jar.

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” he sobbed once more, his small hands smeared with blood.

I tried not to panic and said, “It’s okay.” Paint is all that it is. We’ll tidy things up.

However, it got worse the more I examined it. His clothes, hair, and bed were all covered in paint. It was encountered everywhere. Moreover, I became aware that he had also soaked himself. My annoyance boiled up. How could my wife have missed this?

I took a big breath and gently cleaned his face. “Why didn’t Mommy come help you?” In an attempt to put things together, I asked quietly.

With a sniff, he gazed at me through those large, innocent eyes. “My mom didn’t give me a call. Nobody came to see how I was doing.”

His remarks hurt. I thought she had attempted. I wasn’t so sure now, though.

As I lifted him to the restroom, the gravity of the circumstance began to set in. Beyond the damp jammies and spilt paint, there was a deeper issue.

No one had arrived, and my son had been left all by himself, sobbing and afraid. I couldn’t get my wife out of my head as I was giving him a bath; she was still sitting in that chair and grinning at whatever was on her screen.

I toweled him off after we were finished and went back to the family room. She hadn’t made any movement. When I walked in, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t understand,” I remarked in a quiet but irate tone. “How could you not hear him crying?”

“I told you, I tried three times,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen.

With a snarl, “But he said you never checked on him,” I shot back.

With a shrug, she remained silent.

With our son in my arms and me covered in paint and bath water, I felt as though I was on the brink of something more significant than a rough evening. I had no idea what was wrong or how to solve it.

I knew this was not over because of the overwhelming tension that pervaded the room. There has to be a change. However, what?

I prepared a bag for my son and myself the following morning. I couldn’t stay in the house, but I wasn’t going to leave for good just yet. I required room to make sense of things. As we drove away, I told my wife very little. She hardly responded at all, simply nodding as if my choice didn’t matter.