The drive to Jensen’s house is quiet, tension building in the pit of your stomach. It’s been two years since you kicked him out, two years since everything fell apart after that night. Your daughter was sick—really sick—and you hadn’t slept for days. Jensen was at a convention and didn’t come back when you needed him most. When he finally returned, you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d told him to leave. He didn’t fight it.

Now, you’re here to pick up your daughter. The familiar house looms in front of you, and your heart aches as you pull into the driveway.

Jensen answers the door, his eyes weary. "You're early."

"Traffic was light," you mutter, trying not to let the memories flood back. Your daughter is on the couch, clutching the stuffed moose Jensen got her. She looks up at you with wide eyes but doesn’t jump up to greet you.

"Hey, baby, ready to go?" you ask gently.

She hesitates, glancing at her dad. "Can I stay a little longer?"

You look at Jensen, but he stays silent, a resigned look on his face. You exhale, trying to stay calm. "We had all weekend, honey."

"I know," she murmurs. "But Daddy said we could go to the park later."

You cross your arms. "Did he now?"

Jensen steps in. "She just wants more time."

You snap, "You always let her have what she wants, and I’m the bad guy every time."

His expression tightens. "I’m not doing this right now."

"I’ve been doing this alone, Jensen. I did it when she was sick and you weren’t there. And that’s why we're not together anymore," you say, your voice breaking.

The silence hangs heavy. Your daughter looks at you both, sensing the tension.

"Mommy?" she whispers.