Léa stifles a sob. “I wanted to help the kids practice doing activities with a wider variety of people. I swear, I didn’t know it would… they would…”
I take a deep breath and let out a sigh, slowly. I’m so tired. On my lap, Cayce and Corey are still slightly trembling.
I go on autopilot for the rest of the meeting, accepting the young substitute teacher’s apologies without complaint. The truth is, these types of mistakes can happen. No matter how much I try to do to protect my boys, the world is bound to throw something at them to hurt them.
The best I can do is be there for them in the fallout, and make sure to bring them to every therapy appointment.
I only wish I didn’t have to do it all alone.
The drive home is uneventful, the boys’ usual energetic chatter tempered to a heavy quiet. To get their mind off the whole thing, I encourage them to ‘help’ me make dinner once we arrive home, tasking them with stirring the pot of pasta while I focus on a simple white wine sauce.
Océane joins us for dinner, then insists on heading to the living room to play with them. I make the most of the opportunity to catch up on some reading I’ve meant to do.
It’s only hours later, at 8 PM, that the front door slams shut, louder than I’m accustomed to.
Karan’s heavy footsteps echo through the condo, followed by the thud of his laptop bag hitting the ground. I peek my head out of our bedroom and into the hallway to find him running his hands through his dark hair. A few strands loosen from his usually neat bun.
“Hey,” I call out softly, despite not feeling soft at all.
He got called in early this morning, and now he’s back late.
As always.
“Dinner’s ready. I kept it warm for you.”
His only response is a grunt as he begins untying his shoes. Everything about his posture screams that today was rough—from the way his broad shoulders hunch forward to how his fingers fumble with his laces.
I return to the kitchen and pull his plate from the oven where I’ve been keeping it warm. The boys finished eating over two hours ago, and Océane is still in the living room with them. I try to focus on their laughter to keep myself from exploding.
Karan sits at the table and begins eating the pasta mechanically. It looks like he's performing a task rather than enjoying the meal me and the boys poured love and attentioninto. I busy myself wiping down the counter, stealing glances at him between swipes. Dark circles ring his soft brown eyes. His shoulders remain tense as he eats.
When he’s done, he brings his plate to the sink. I follow with the dish soap, and to my surprise, he falls into line to help—me washing, him drying—a treat I rarely get nowadays.
But the tension in the air makes my skin prickle.
I hand him a plate, studying his face. His jaw is clenched tight, and a hardness lingers in his eyes.
A dark thought passes through me. I hope his foul mood isn’t about what I think it’s about.
“Are you mad about this morning?” I ask, careful to keep my voice low so the kids—and Océane—won’t overhear.
“What? No.” He practically snatches the next plate from my hands. “Of course I’m not mad.”
“Really? Because you look mad.”
The plate clinks against the counter as he sets it down with more force than necessary.
“Okay, fine. Yes, I’m mad. But not at Océane.” His voice comes out in a harsh whisper. “My boss spent twenty minutes yelling at me for being late, then made me stay to fix someone else’s mistake. So that’s why I’m not feeling at the top of my game right now.”
I turn off the water and face him fully. “Then quit.”
Our life was perfect when he worked at Ubisoft. Well, okay, not perfect. Nothing ever is. But we had itgood.
Yes, having twins threw a wrench in our plans, but we adapted and thrived because we were a team. Because we were living our truths.
I desperately want everything to go back to how it was before. And only one thing stands in the way.
This godawful job.
