Chapter 2

The next morning, the house began to stir with its usual routine, but Ethan did not participate. He usually woke up at six to prepare a specific breakfast for Noah, who had allergies, and a different one for Chloe, who was a picky eater. He would lay out their school uniforms and pack their lunches.

Today, he stayed in his room. He heard the housekeeper, Martha, knock on the children' s doors, her voice laced with confusion. He heard the faint, irritated cries of Noah and Chloe, wondering where their breakfast was.

An hour later, the chaos had escalated. He could hear it from downstairs. The clatter of pans, the smoke alarm going off, and Olivia' s sharp, impatient voice. "Martha, can't you handle a simple breakfast? Where is Ethan?"

Ethan walked down the stairs slowly. The kitchen was a mess. A burnt pan sat in the sink, and the air was thick with smoke. Olivia stood by the counter, a phone pressed to her ear, annoyance etched on her face. Noah and Chloe were at the table, pouting, their plates empty.

"There you are," Olivia said, pulling the phone away from her ear. Her tone was accusatory. "What is this? Are you sick? The kids are going to be late for school."

"I'm not sick," Ethan said calmly. "I'm just tired."

"Tired?" Olivia scoffed, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raising. "Tired of what? You don't have a nine-to-five job. You manage the house. Is that so difficult?" She saw him as a house husband, his own architectural career a mere hobby she allowed him to have.

Ethan looked at her, at the woman he had devoted years of his life to, only to be met with constant dismissal. "I'm tired of making three different meals a day that get thrown away if they aren't perfect. I'm tired of remembering every doctor's appointment, every allergy, every school project you forget about. I'm tired of doing it all alone while you and the children look at me like I'm part of the furniture."

His quiet, measured words seemed to anger her more than shouting would have. "So this is a tantrum? You're going on strike because you feel unappreciated?"

"Daddy, I'm hungry!" Chloe whined, her lower lip trembling. "I don't want Martha' s oatmeal. I want your pancakes!"

"And my eggs are supposed to be scrambled, not fried!" Noah added, glaring at the plate Martha had placed in front of him. "Why can't Liam come over? He makes good food. He would make us what we want."

The mention of Liam's name was a physical blow. Ethan' s shoulders slumped. He looked at his children, their faces a mixture of petulance and genuine preference for another man. They didn't want their father. They wanted a replacement.

"Fine," Ethan said, his voice barely a whisper. "You want Liam? You can have him."

He turned to Olivia, his eyes empty. "Let him make them breakfast. Let him take them to school. Let him handle everything. That's what you all want, isn't it?"

Olivia stared at him, taken aback by his complete surrender. She expected an argument, a fight. She didn't expect him to just give in. Before she could formulate a response, Ethan turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving them standing in the smoky, chaotic kitchen. He was done. The responsibility was no longer his.