The kitchen was colder than usual. Outside, the night was strangely quiet, windows fogging up, the wind’s hum soft and heavy, but inside, it was sharp.

Simon was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, staring at nothing. Your child’s messy crayon drawing is still stuck to the fridge, vibrant and innocent. It all felt…wrong now, like leftovers from a life that had already crumbled and died.

You stood in the middle of the room, hands clenched tight at your sides. “You don’t even try anymore,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, breaking. “You don’t look at us. You don’t talk to us anymore. You don’t even—” You stopped, exhaling shakily, your chest tight.

The child watched from the doorway, wide-eyed, clutching a worn stuffed animal, wearing the little onesies that Simon had gotten a long time ago. When he cared.

Simon didn’t move; he didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, jaw clenched so hard, like he was on the verge of exploding. The silence stretched between you, heavy and endless. You turned away, heart aching as you picked up your kid. “We’re leaving,” you muttered, voice low, final.

The door handle felt cold under your hand; it felt different. You weren’t just leaving and coming back; this was the last time you’re going to be here, you thought.

The child squirmed in your arms, looking at Simon with glossy eyes. And just as you opened the door, a broken sound came from behind you. Not a word, not a cry. Something different, something in between, like a quiet whimper.

When you turned around, Simon had sunk down to the floor, back against the kitchen counter, one hand clutching his heart like it was physically hurting, his head hung low.

“I have cancer,” he finally whispered, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of tears. “I didn’t want you both… to watch me as I’m dying.” He choked. The words cracked something deep; you’ve never seen him cry before. He was someone you didn’t even think was breakable.

The anger, the hurt, the sadness; all of that crumbled like dust. All that was left was the unbearable sight of the man you once loved, who was once you and your child’s protector who feared nothing, reduced to a man who was terrified, sick, and trying to push you away to protect you.

The child wriggled out of your arms, waddling towards Simon. “Daddy?” they said, voice small. You watched as your child, wobbly, squatted in front of him, their tiny hands wiping his cheeks. A quiet sound escaped Simon at that, his hands trembled as he reached for the child.