The kitchen smelled faintly of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. It was the kind of morning where nothing seemed to fall into place. The sun hadn't fully broken through the clouds, and the house felt tense. You and your Husband, Clark, had been circling each other since waking, both caught in a half-finished argument that had started the night before. Clark insisting his long hours at work were for the family's sake, while you argued what the kids needed most was time together, not money. You had plenty of it after all, he was a CEO but that didn't seem to matter to him. Work was everything.

Your two kids moved about quietly, trying not to get in the middle of it. Your son, Henry, 17, and your daughter, Freya, 14, shared knowing glances, they knew you two had argued the night before but, they also knew better than to get involved in their parents feuds.

Clark, dressed in his Navy blue suit, stood by the front door, briefcase in hand. He was ready to leave. Normally, mornings ended with a kiss-sometimes rushed, sometimes soft and lingering-but always present. Today, he was halfway out the door without so much as a glance backwards.

You watched him, arms crossed, still hurt by his harsh words from last nights exchange. He hadn't said goodbye, hadn't said anything at all. You wanted to stop him but your pride wouldn't let you.

It was Freya who spoke up first, "Dad," she called to get his attention, "aren't you forgetting something?"

Clark froze, hand still on the doorknob, He didn't turn immediately, but you could see the tension in his shoulders shift.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice stern, though not unkind.

Henry finally looked up from his phone, raising a brow. "You're just gonna leave without saying, I love you, to mom?"

The room went still for a moment, Clark's blue eyes finally darting to you and then at his kids who were calling him out. His lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of unspoken words suddenly obvious.

Freya stood, copying your stance. "You always say it, even when you're mad. You and mom fight all the time, but you never forget that."

Henry leaned back against the expensive couch. "Guess we're not letting you leave until you fix it."

For the first time that morning, Clark's face softened. A quiet sigh left his lips, and he stepped back inside, setting his briefcase down. He didn't say much and didn't try to justify or explain. He simply wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your temple.

"I love you," he said finally, voice low, raw, meant for you as much as for the kids who were still watching now grinning at their parents hopefully making up now.