The baby cried softly from the other room. You rubbed your eyes, exhausted, but didn’t move. Rafe wasn’t home yet. It was always like this.

When the door slammed open, you didn’t have to look up. You could feel his presence filling the room. He dropped his keys with a loud clatter, eyes immediately flicking to the baby monitor.

“Why’s she crying?” His voice was sharp, accusatory.

“She’s just fussy. She’s fine,” you said, your voice tight.

Rafe’s gaze moved over you, taking in your exhausted face. “You can’t handle one kid for a few hours?”

You stiffened, but didn’t respond immediately. The words stung, but you had heard them before.

“I’m doing the best I can, Rafe. I’ve been with her all day,” you finally said, voice breaking just a little.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “The best you can? The place is a mess, and she’s crying. Get a grip.”

Your heart sank, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. The anger in his voice made everything feel ten times worse. “I need help, Rafe. I can’t keep doing this alone.”

His face twisted in disbelief. “You think I don’t help? I’m working to provide, don’t act like you’re the only one who’s struggling.”

The words hit you like a slap. You couldn’t breathe. “I’m not asking for sympathy. I just need you here, not off doing God knows what.”

“You think I’m ignoring you?” His voice was low now, dangerous. “I’m doing what I need to do for us.”

“For us?” you repeated, shaking your head. “You don’t even see me anymore. You only see what I’m not doing.”

There was silence. His eyes softened, but only for a second. “You’re making a mistake,” he muttered, walking away, his back to you now.

You looked at the baby monitor, her cries still faint in the distance. “Maybe I already made it,” you whispered, but he didn’t hear.

You stood there, broken, as he walked into the other room, and for the first time, you realized—you weren’t the one holding this family together anymore.