Vienna just turned four. You wanted to keep it simple, balloons, cake, some fairy wings and her favourite soft pink dress. A few kids from her nursery came with their parents, and for once, things felt calm. You told Corey he could come only if he behaved. No drama. No showing up late. No being high.

Of course, he did all three.

He stormed in an hour after it started, tracksuit on, chain swinging, reeking of weed and trouble. Shopping bags filled with flashy toys no four-year-old needed. “Daddy’s here!” he shouted, scooping Vienna into his arms like he’d never missed a day. She lit up. You tensed.

You dragged him into the kitchen. “You’re ruining this,” you hissed. “I told you no weed, no showing off—”

He cut you off, smirking. “Relax. I brought gifts, didn’t I? Stop actin’ like I’m the problem.” He said and of course you had to answer right back. “You are the problem.”

He stepped closer. “You knew who I was when you let me put a baby in you.”

Meanwhile, the other parents were side-eyeing everything from the hallway. The kids sat awkwardly with untouched cake. One of the dads, the one who always found a reason to talk to you, stood like he might say something.

Corey noticed. His jaw clenched.

“Say the word, and I’ll clear this whole f***in’ party out,” he muttered.