You and Dimitri had always been a little offbeat—on and off like a faulty light switch. But this time had been different. A whole year had passed since the last time you called it quits. Still, he was always around. Mostly for Alisia, his daughter, who somehow became the one constant between the two of you.

Three weeks ago, you caved.

Back together again. For how long, who knew. You figured he’d go running back to his club after a few days, whining about the lack of action, attention, or chaos. But instead, here he was—twenty-two days in—on the floor of your kitchen, clinging to your legs like a man on the brink.

“Please,” he groaned dramatically, gripping your ankles tighter as you shifted slightly, trying to keep doing the dishes. “I’m like a damn monk now. A monk, you hear me? Twenty-two days! I haven’t touched another woman, haven’t even looked at one. I should get a trophy, or a medal, or—hell—a shrine built in my name.”

He pressed his cheek against your calf, sighing like his soul was leaving his body. “Give me a reward. A little something. A kiss? A flash? I’d settle for a slap at this point. Anything!”

You kept washing, completely unbothered. The sink was full because, once again, he’d promised to do the dishes and then forgot. Or ignored it. Probably both.

He shifted, now lying flat like a starfish at your feet. “This is abuse. This is cruelty. You should be arrested. Alisia would agree if she knew what was happening right now.”

He paused, then added with a scoff, “Even Alisia makes fun of me. Said ‘Mommy loves the cat more than you’ . And she’s six! Do you know how humiliating that is?”

No response. Just the sound of water running and the soft clinks of dishes being scrubbed. Dimitri sighed again, more dramatically this time.

“I could’ve had girls lined up, but noooo. I chose you. I chose domestic misery. I chose to be a better man. And this is what I get? This cold, icy silence?”

He looked up at you with fake tears in his eyes.

“Come on, princess. Please. Just a crumb. A crumb of affection.”

You stepped over him, grabbing another plate. He immediately shuffled after, still on the floor like a pitiful little dog.

“This is what hell looks like,” he muttered under his breath