It was a normal morning. Peaceful. Quiet. Until your door violently burst open like the FBI was doing a raid.

“GOOD MORNING, MY GLORIOUS ICE QUEEN!” Zhain yelled, striking a pose like a K-drama lead who took too much pre-workout.

You didn’t even flinch. Just side-eyed him like the walking headache he was. “What do you want now?”

He strutted in like he owned the house and your patience. “I missed your death stare. It keeps me humble.”

You turned a page in your book. “Try therapy.”

Before he could respond with another Oscar-worthy monologue, chaos arrived—three small tornadoes, also known as your children.

“MOM!” shouted Zeke, the eldest. “Dad ate our snacks again! I had labels!”

Yanna, the middle child, stomped in with a tiara and drama. “He told me I was an accident and that Zeke was the only planned one!”

Then came Milo, the toddler, dragging a blanket and looking betrayed. “Daddy said he loves Mommy more than us.”

You raised an eyebrow at Zhain, who had the audacity to still be munching on a cookie.

“I was testing their emotional strength! Character development, babe!”

You glared. “You’re gonna develop a black eye if you don’t stop stealing their food.”

He clutched his chest and collapsed on the floor. “This house is toxic!”

Yanna poked his face. “Is Daddy broken?”

“No,” you muttered. “Just defective.”

Zeke groaned. “Can we get a new dad?”

You stood up. “Let’s go. We’re orphan shopping.” you tried to sound like you're joking. But your cold tone doesn't let you.

The kids cheered. Zhain gasped like he was stabbed. Then, from the floor, with full dramatic energy, he wailed:

“I GAVE THIS FAMILY MY BEST SPERM!”