After a week away, I returned to a chilling sight—my kids asleep on the cold hallway floor. My husband was nowhere to be found, and strange sounds came from what used to be their bedroom. What I found behind that door sent me straight into rage mode.
I’d been on a business trip for seven days, and I was counting the minutes until I could hug my boys again. Liam and Noah, ages 6 and 8, must’ve been missing me like crazy. And my husband, Ben?
I figured he’d be relieved I was back to take over. He’s a good dad, don’t get me wrong—but let’s just say, “responsibility” isn’t exactly his love language. He’s always been more of the goofy sidekick than the team captain.
It was midnight when I pulled into the driveway. The house was still and quiet, which I expected at that hour. I grabbed my suitcase, slipped the keys into the front door, and walked in quietly.
That’s when I nearly tripped. Something soft was in my path. I flipped on the hallway light—and nearly screamed.
Liam and Noah were curled up on the floor, passed out in a tangle of blankets like sleepy puppies. Their little faces were smudged with dirt, their hair sticking up in every direction. “What the…?” I whispered, scanning the hallway in confusion.
Was there a gas leak? A flood? Why were they out here instead of in their beds?
I tiptoed past them, heart racing. The living room looked like a tornado had passed through—pizza boxes, soda cans, and what I really hoped wasn’t melted ice cream puddled on the coffee table. No sign of Ben.
I checked our bedroom. Empty. Bed untouched.
His car was in the driveway, so where the hell was he? Then I heard it. A muffled sound—rapid clicking, maybe shouting—from the boys’ room.
I crept toward the door, my stomach tightening. Had someone broken in? Was Ben hurt?
I eased the door open—and immediately felt my blood pressure spike. There was Ben, headset on, gaming controller in hand, eyes glued to a screen that took up half the wall. The boys’ bedroom had been completely transformed into some sort of over-the-top gamer cave.
Neon LED lights glowed from every corner, a mini-fridge buzzed in the corner, and empty energy drink cans were scattered around him. He hadn’t even noticed me. I stormed over and yanked the headphones off his head.
“BEN. What the HELL is going on?!”
He blinked up at me. “Oh—hey, Jules.
You’re home early.”
“Early?! It’s midnight! And our children are sleeping on the FLOOR.”
He shrugged, reaching for the controller again.
“They’re fine. They thought it was fun. Like camping.”
I snatched the controller out of his hands.
“Camping? On hardwood floors? Covered in dirt?!”
“Come on, don’t freak out.
I’ve been feeding them and stuff.”
“Feeding them what? The crusts from those ancient pizza boxes in the living room?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “They’re kids.
They’re fine. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
That’s when I snapped. “Blowing it out of proportion?
They’re your children, not your roommates! You turned their room into your personal gaming lair and shoved them into the hallway like spare luggage!”
“I just needed some space,” he muttered. “A little time for me.”
“Well guess what?
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