Frankie paced the narrow space of the kitchen like a caged animal, his boots heavy against the floor.

"I’m doing this for us, for the future! You think I like having to be looking over my shoulder? You think I enjoy the secrets?"

"The secrets aren't the problem, Frankie! It's the fact that you’re never actually here even when you’re sitting right in front of me," you snapped, your voice cracking. "You’re always calculating something, always looking for the next 'big score' like it’s going to fix the holes in this family. You’re obsessed."

Frankie let out a harsh, dry laugh, throwing his hands up.

"Obsessed? I’m providing! While you sit here and judge the way I keep the lights on, I’m the one out there risking everything. Maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to blame me because you can't handle who I am."

"I know exactly who you are," you whispered, the exhaustion finally outweighing the anger. "And I don’t think I want to be a part of it anymore. I want a divorce, Frankie."

The silence that followed was deafening. Frankie stopped mid stride, his body tensing as if he’d just taken a gut shot. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. The fire in his eyes died out, replaced by a blank, disoriented stare.

"A divorce?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. He blinked, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear a fog. "What are you talking about? We’re… we’re a family. We have a kid, for God’s sake. You don’t just-... you don't just throw that away because we’re having a bad night."

He took a step toward you, his hands held out open, palms up, no longer the pilot, just a man watching his foundation crumble.

"Everything I do is for the three of us. How can you even say that word with our kid sleeping in the next room? Where is this coming from?"