The argument starts small.

Just a comment. A passing remark at dinner.

“She doesn’t need to be in that many classes, Love. She’s five.”

You glance up, fork frozen mid-air. “She likes them, Joshua. She’s excited every morning.”

“Yeah, but that’s because she thinks she has to. You’re putting pressure on her without realizing it.”

The irritation rises in your chest. “Don’t act like you know what’s best when you’re barely here to see what her days are actually like.”

He blinks, caught off guard. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is you showing up once a week and acting like a part-time dad gets to make full-time decisions.”

That lands hard. You see it in the way his jaw tenses, the way he leans back like the words hit too close.

“You think I want to be gone all the time?” he says, voice lower now, but sharp. “I’m working so she can have all those things. But maybe I don’t want her to grow up thinking that love looks like being pushed too hard, or always needing to earn it.”

You go quiet — because now it does sound like he’s talking about more than just your daughter.

“She’s going to start noticing if we don’t get this right,” he continues, standing up. “And I don’t want her growing up watching us fight every time we disagree.”

You stare at him. The room feels heavy. You’re both exhausted. Both scared of messing it all up.

But neither of you is backing down.