"Honey, we all agreed she could stay up until ten, I don't know what this-"

"But if she's finished her homework, she should go to bed."

"That wasn't the deal."

"I don't want her spending all day and night on the computer."

"She's not, Julia."

At that point, Nicole burst into tears, and jumped to her feet crying, "You always criticize me! I hate you!" She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. That woke the baby, who started to cry.

Julia turned to me and said, "If you would please just let me handle this myself, Jack."

And I said, "You're right. I'm sorry. You're right."

In truth, that wasn't what I thought at all. More and more, I regarded this as my house, and my kids. She was barging into my house, late at night, when I'd gotten everything quiet, the way I liked it, the way it should be. And she was raising a fuss.

I didn't think she was right at all. I thought she was wrong. And in the last few weeks I'd noticed that incidents like this had become more frequent. At first, I thought Julia felt guilty about being away so much. Then I thought she was reasserting her authority, trying to regain control of a household that had fallen into my hands. Then I thought it was because she was tired, or under so much pressure at work. But lately I felt I was making excuses for her behavior. I started to have the feeling Julia had changed. She was different, somehow, tenser, tougher.

The baby was howling. I picked her up from the crib, hugged her, cooed at her, and simultaneously stuck a finger down the back of the diaper to see if it was wet. It was. I put her down on her back on top of the dresser, and she howled again until I shook her favorite rattle, and put it in her hand. She was silent then, allowing me to change her without much kicking. "I'll do that," Julia said, coming in.

"It's okay."

"I woke her up, it's only right I do it."