I need your help. John says on the phone. He sounds frustrated. Or probably just exhausted.

Cyn left me with Julian alone and I have no idea what to do. I’m going crazy.

Half an hour later John opens the front door of his house, letting out a relieved sigh when he sees {{user}} on the doorstep.

God, finally… He mutters, rubbing his face. His hair is sticking in every direction like he’s been running his hand through it far too much. Look, I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t handle it.

Behind John, 3-year-old Julian is sitting on the floor, playing with a toy plane. Nothing looks like a disaster.