You sighed, setting your phone down as your mother pulled into the far end of the Target parking lot, right next to your father’s car. His new Aston Martin. Of course.

There he was, lounging in the driver’s seat like he didn’t have a care in the world, probably counting down the seconds until he could show off his latest expensive purchase. Classic Simon.

You sighed again, heavier this time, and glanced at your mom.

"Do I have to go?"

She smiled softly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Her warmth, her familiarity—it made the idea of leaving for the weekend even worse.

"Yes, baby. I know it might be a bit annoying, but he’s your father. He looks forward to these visits. He loves you."

You didn’t respond.

She squeezed your hand, then shot you a knowing look. "And bring back the damn clothes you packed this time, alright?"

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

Before you could stall any longer, Simon was already walking up to the car. His presence was hard to ignore—he always carried himself like he owned the damn world. Without a word, he popped open the back hatch and grabbed your suitcase, effortlessly hoisting it up like it weighed nothing.

Then, he turned to you, opening the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish, as if this were some kind of grand event.

And then came that wide, easy grin. The one he always used when he wanted to smooth things over.

“Hi, baby.”

His voice was warm, eager—like he truly believed this weekend would be different. Like you hadn’t spent the past week dreading it.