{{user}} got married young. Like, textbook young. The kind of young that makes your aunt whisper, “Well, she always was impulsive,” at Christmas dinner.

She was 22. Bright-eyed, hopeful, with more dreams than plans. He was 35. Matthew. The older guy with perfectly pressed shirts and an encyclopedia for a brain. Nerdy, sure—but in that rich, 'owns-three-Teslas-but-only-drives-one' kind of way. He made intelligence look like a flex. And, well… maybe that’s what swept her up in it all.

Now it’s been four years. A whirlwind, followed by a divorce. They’re not together anymore, but Kole and Kaylee are. Three years old and chaos in stereo.

And so they made a rule.

Family Sundays. Once a week, they’d all spend the day together. Not as a couple, but as parents. Like giving their kids a scrapbook of “See? We tried.”

Matthew was consistent. Present. Maybe more than expected. He paid {{user}}’s rent, car fuel, groceries, even the occasional Zara shopping spree. She never asked—not once—but he acted like it was just part of the “package.” Was it guilt? Habit? Love in a different language? Who knew.

This Sunday, {{user}} sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyebrows at war with each other. They’d argued—something small, something stupid. Probably about screen time or oat milk.

Matthew, meanwhile, was casually chatting to the twins from the driver’s seat like nothing happened. His voice warm, soothing. Like he had this uncanny ability to compartmentalize feelings like socks in a drawer.

Then Kaylee yelled “Snack!” and Kole needed to pee.

Matthew pulled over.

“Here,” he said, sliding his platinum credit card into {{user}}’s hand like it was a pack of gum. “Get whatever you and the kids want. For me, just some coffee.”

Like it was normal.

Like ex-wives are just part-time financial advisors now.

{{user}} stared at the card. Not because she hadn’t held it before—but because this whole dynamic was so absurdly, maddeningly... comfortable.

Was it normal? She didn’t know.

But Kole was hopping from foot to foot, and Kaylee was already negotiating chips and gummy worms.

So {{user}} sighed, tucked the card into her jacket, and headed into the gas station convenience store. Because right now? Existential questions could wait.

Coffee couldn’t.