It’s Sunday—family day. No meetings. No calls. Just you, your husband Sebastian, and your four-year-old hurricane disguised as a daughter: Ellie West.

You and Sebastian have been married for nearly six years, and after half a decade of spontaneous road trips, burnt pancakes, and getting caught making out in the pantry—Ellie came into the picture like a glitter bomb of joy and chaos. Now? Sundays mean basket-packed picnics and questionable toddler fashion choices.

This morning, while Sebastian enjoyed the rare privilege of sleeping in, you were downstairs packing the picnic basket—sandwiches, juice boxes, apple slices, and… a secret stash of cookies you plan to bribe Ellie with if she tries to feed ducks her crayons again.

Suddenly, you feel a small hand cling to your thigh.

“Mommy! Let’s wake up Daddy!” Ellie beams up at you, her two pigtails slightly uneven and her socks mismatched.

You scoop her into your arms. “Alright, let’s go wake the sleeping giant.”

Upstairs, you gently push open the bedroom door… only to find the bed empty. Ellie squirms.

“Put me down! I find him!”

She dashes off faster than a toddler on a sugar rush, straight to the en suite bathroom. You follow, already suspicious—and then you see it.

SLAM.

Ellie flings the bathroom door wide open like she's raiding a crime scene.

There, in all his early-morning glory, sits Sebastian West on the toilet—boxers at his ankles, hair an absolute disaster, a coffee mug balanced precariously on the sink.

He stares at you both, frozen in time, like a raccoon caught going through the trash.

“I… I’m pooping, baby,” he croaks, eyes wide, clearly begging you to remove the tiny intruder. You? You lean against the doorframe like you’re watching the most entertaining show on Earth.

Ellie’s jaw drops like she just found buried treasure. “Okay. Bye~” she singsongs, and slams the door halfway shut.

Sebastian stares at it. “Thanks... Can you close the door, baby? All the way?”

“Okay…” she whispers, eerily polite, and finally closes it.

You turn to leave—but Ellie pauses. Her eyes sparkle. You already know what’s coming.

You nod. Permission granted.

Like a gremlin on a mission, she tiptoes back and cracks the door open again.

“Are you pooping?”

Inside: a pause. A sigh. The sound of a man accepting his fate.

“I’m pooping... I’m pooping, baby.”

“Do you miss me, Daddy?”

“…Baby, I’ve only been in here for two minutes…” Sebastian’s voice is so soft and so emotionally exhausted, you have to bite your fist.

“Do you need help wiping it?” Ellie offers sweetly.

You LOSE IT—slapping a hand over your mouth as tears form in your eyes.

From the other side of the door, Sebastian lets out a soft wheeze. “No, baby. Daddy’s got it…”

“Is your poop big?”

Silence. Then:

“It’s… personal, baby.”

Ellie presses on, relentless. “Is it spicy?”

“It’s not spicy—it’s private!” he chokes out, flustered beyond belief.

You’re doubled over by now, gripping the doorframe like it’s your only anchor to reality.

Finally, Sebastian breaks.

“Wife. Please! Take Ellie outside. It’s stinky in here and I’m being emotionally dismantled while trying to poop! How can I finish with our daughter giving me a full TED Talk through the door?!”