The house is quiet when we get home.
Too quiet.
The boys are tired from the day, their earlier excitement dulled into something softer, slower. Evan is half-asleep by the time I carry him inside, his small arms wrapped loosely around my neck. James walks beside me, quieter than usual, his cleats dangling from his fingers.
Daniel is on the couch.
Controller in hand.
Headset on.
The glow of the screen flickers across his face, his attention completely absorbed in something happening somewhere else.
Not here.
Not with us.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice even as I shift Evan slightly on my hip.
He lifts one side of the headset, barely glancing over. "Hey."
Then it's back on.
Conversation over.
Something inside me tightens.
By the time the boys are bathed and in their pajamas, the house feels heavier than it did when we walked in.
James lingers in the doorway of his room.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, baby?"
He hesitates. "It's okay that Dad didn't come."
The words land harder than anything else today.
I crouch down in front of him, brushing my hand gently over his cheek.
"It's not okay," I say softly. "But it's not because of you."
He nods, like he understands more than he should.
"Did we still do good?"
My chest tightens.
"You did amazing," I tell him, pulling him into a hug. "I'm so proud of you."
When they're finally asleep, I take a deep breath and walk into the living room.
Daniel hasn't moved.
The game is louder now, his voice rising and falling as he talks to whoever is on the other side of his headset.
I stand there for a moment, watching him.
Waiting for the him to see me.
Eventually, I reach over and gently tap his shoulder.
He pulls the headset down, irritation already written across his face.
"What?"
The word is sharp.
Immediate.
Like I've interrupted something important.
"I got a call from the coach today," I say carefully. "You didn't go to James's game."
He leans back slightly, rubbing a hand over his face.
"I told you, I had a long week."
"That doesn't mean you just don't show up," I reply, my voice quieter than I feel.
"I said I'd try," he snaps. "I didn't promise anything."
My stomach drops slightly.
"You didn't even call," I say. "They were waiting for you."
"I was busy, Liz," he says, his tone turning defensive. "You think I'm just sitting around doing nothing all week?"
"That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?" he shoots back.
I hesitate, then push forward anyway.
"I'm saying that your kids needed you today. And you weren't there."
His expression hardens.
"I work all week to provide for this family," he says, his voice rising. "The least I can do when I get home is relax without being interrogated."
I stare at him as if I could somehow see his point if I look hard enough.
"That's what you think this is?" I ask quietly.
"What else would you call it?" he mutters, already reaching for his headset again. "You just walked in the door and you're already on my case."
Something inside me cracks slightly.
"I'm not on your case," I say, my voice tighter now. "I'm asking you to show up. For them. For us."
He lets out a frustrated breath.
"I am showing up. You just don't see it."
I laugh softly, but there's no humor in it.
"Where?" I ask. "Because I'm clearly not seeing it."
That does it.
He stands up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor.
"You know what, Liz? I'm not doing this tonight."
"No, you never do," I reply before I can stop myself.
The words hang between us.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then he shakes his head, like I'm the problem, like I'm asking for too much, and sits back down, pulling the headset over his ears again.
Conversation over.
Again.
I don't say anything else.
What's the point?
Sunday morning feels like a reset.
Or at least, it tries to.
The boys are calmer, the rhythm of getting ready for church slower, more grounded. There's something about the routine of it that steadies me, even if only for a little while.
Daniel doesn't come.
He rarely does.
Says it's his only day to rest.
I don't argue.
I don't ask anymore.
After church, I take the boys straight to Talia's house.
The moment we step inside, the energy shifts completely.
Noise. Laughter. Movement. Life.
Her kids run up instantly, pulling Evan and James into whatever game they were already playing.
Talia appears from the kitchen a second later, wiping her hands on a towel.
"There you are," she says, smiling as she pulls me into a quick hug. "You look like you need coffee."
"I always need coffee," I murmur.
She studies me for half a second longer than necessary.
"Okay… but today you really need it."
We sit at her kitchen table while the kids play in the next room.
Her husband moves easily through the space, helping one of the kids with something, checking on another, stepping in without being asked.
It's effortless.
Natural.
And I feel it pressing in from all sides.
That quiet, aching comparison I don't want to acknowledge.
"So," Talia says, sliding a mug toward me. "What happened?"
I stare down at the coffee for a moment before answering.
"He didn't go to James's game."
Her expression darkens instantly.
"You're joking."
I shake my head slowly.
"They waited for him. The coach had to call me."
Talia leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.
"I cannot stand him," she mutters.
"It's not just that," I say quietly, my fingers tightening slightly around the mug. "It's everything."
She doesn't interrupt.
She just waits.
So I keep going.
"The way he talks to me. The way he just… doesn't show up. Not for the boys. Not for me."
My voice softens, my gaze dropping.
"And Friday night…"
I hesitate and a deep sigh escapes me.
Then force the words out anyway.
"He came to bed late. I was already asleep. And he just… started feeling me, like I'm some sex-doll he can switch on whenever he's in the mood."
Talia's face changes completely.
From frustration…
To something sharper.
"He didn't even wake you?" she says, her voice low.
I shake my head.
"I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to make it worse. So I just…" I swallow. "Let it happen.
For a moment, there's silence.
Then—
"That's not okay, Liz."
Her voice is firm.
Uncompromising.
I let out a shaky breath. "I know."
"No," she says, leaning forward slightly. "That is basically assault and you keep accepting it."
The words hit.
Because they're true.
"I just don't have the energy to fight him all the time," I admit quietly.
"You shouldn't have to fight for basic respect," she replies.
The room feels still for a moment.
Then Talia exhales and shakes her head slightly.
"Enough," she says. "We are not sitting in this all day."
I glance up at her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," she says, her expression shifting into something more determined, "your birthday is coming up, and you are not spending it like this."
I blink. "Tal—"
"No," she cuts me off. "I've already planned it."
"You've what?"
"Girls' night. Proper one. You, me, a few friends. Drinks. Music. You actually having fun for once."
I hesitate immediately. "I don't know—"
"Yes, you do," she says firmly. "You need this."
"I have the boys—"
"They're staying here," she says without missing a beat.
I blink again. "What?"
"They can sleep over. Shaun will be here, you know he's amazing with them, and I'll make sure everything's sorted. Stef's kids are also staying over and she's sending her aupair along for the nivht. There will be more than enough adult supervision."
"That's a lot to ask—"
"It's not," she says gently this time. "It's what friends do."
I sit there, unsure.
Unsteady.
The idea feels… big.
Too different from what I would choose for myself.
"I don't even know if Daniel—"
"He's not planning anything for your birthday," she says bluntly.
And the worst part is...
I know she's right.
I look down at my hands.
At the life I've been moving through without really questioning it.
At the quiet acceptance of things that don't feel right anymore.
Then I think about yesterday.
About James waiting.
About the look on his face.
About Friday night.
About how small I felt.
"What if I don't fit in anymore?" I ask quietly.
Talia's expression softens.
"Then we'll remind you who you are," she says
Something in my chest shifts.
Not a life changing, burst into song type of shift.
But enough to make me hesitate.
Enough to make me think.
Enough to make me wonder…
what it might feel like to be care free and young.