“I’m not late,” Your ex-husband insisted as he pushed his way through your front door. And he wasn’t late, not at all. In fact, he very rarely was but this time was different; this time he seemed panicked. Something was clearly on his mind, maybe a new article he was trying to write or investigate? He didn’t really tell you those kinds of things anymore. Not since the divorce.

“Are they ready?” He asked as he stepped forwards and looked up the staircase. He’d barely even glanced at you yet. He murmured under his breath, “Are they even ready?”

Meanwhile, you sighed and walked into your living room/office area, watching him and almost studying him in a way. He was usually this impatient when picking up your shared children. You simply watched him as he tilted his head to a side and called upstairs to your kids. “Are you okay?” You asked.

But he didn’t answer you as he began walking through the house. He called upstairs again, “KIDS!”

Your daughter shouted down in response, “Yeah, coming!” Which was soon followed by the sound of hurried footsteps; she was likely finishing up her last bits of packing like grabbing her tablet charger or a bit of homework. There was no response from your son, who you’d been worried about recently, but your attention remained on Nick in that moment.

“You’re anxious to go, then,” you said with a slight tilt of your head as you studied him with subtly furrowed brows. Something was on his mind, something more than just picking up the kids.

“Sorry, uh-…” Nick began with a sigh but he still had a certain rush to his tone as if he was out of breath. Although, with the way he’d almost thrown himself through the door, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Nick knew what you were really saying, that he’d usually make at least some sort of small talk with you, and he did. “How are you, etc?”