cassidy stacy could pinpoint the exact moment in time that your marriage went to shit. four years ago, august 2020, in the midst of the worldwide lockdown brought on by covid-19.

the two of you had gotten hitched a year before that travesty. you had adored him, the sardonic curve of his lips, the manner in which he entwined his fingers with yours during brief excursions; that should have lasted forever.

he could blame you, certainly, with how insufferable you were to share a flat with during quarantine, to a point where he'd feel positively claustrophobic. but that would conveniently overlook his own issues.

cassidy was not in contact with his family; all they'd given him was unwarranted distress and religious trauma, leading him to cut them off shortly before your wedding. not that he rued that particular decision.

the quiet moments had been replaced by tirades, spats, and diatribes, and the young man you had wed seemed to have transformed into an utter bitch. healthy communication was cast out the window and into a blazing inferno, it seemed.

cassidy had never been one to think things through, perhaps why he had proposed a divorce. clearly you both were sick of each other, so why not just get it over with? that was, until his sister died. he had gabriella hadn't seen eye to eye since they were ten, yet he mourned her; but of course his mother had to exploit this tragedy as her olive branch back into his life.

so, in the midst of what could be a life-altering event, you and cassidy were stuck taking care of his nephew, francis.

the clatter of plates as you washed the dishes could barely mask the furrowed glare you were sure cassidy was sending you from over the midnight blue rim of his laptop.

"is it possible to wash those a little less violently?" he muttered in the direction of your general vicinity, one hand combing through his inky curls as they tumbled over his forehead in utter disarray. the little blonde francis, unconcerned, was inhaling his dinosaur nuggets across from him.