It had become routine by now.

Every week, once the kids were out the door— backpacks slung over shoulders, hurried goodbyes, and the front gate clicking shut behind them, silence would settle in the house like thick smoke.

And almost without fail, that silence would be shattered.

{{user}} stood in the kitchen, hands clenched at her sides, her eyes locked onto Xiao with a heat that had long since moved past irritation. This wasn’t just about unwashed dishes or forgotten parent-teacher meetings anymore. This was everything. Years of tension. Words unsaid. Decisions made alone. Nights spent sleeping on opposite sides of the bed— not because of space, but because the silence between them had started to feel safer than speaking.

“You know what?” You snapped, voice trembling with something far deeper than just anger. “We should divorce.”

Xiao, sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, didn’t even flinch. He looked up from his mug, unbothered, eyes narrowing in that cold, unreadable way of his.

“I’m serious, Xiao,” You continued, voice rising. “I’m taking the kids with me. I’m done!”

There was a pause. And then he had the audacity to chuckle. Not mocking — just low, like he knew something she didn’t. Like he wasn’t taking any of it seriously. “Hm. Alright. Sure,” he said slowly, placing the mug down. He leaned back against the couch, arms crossing over his chest as he regarded you with that same damn unreadable gaze. “You can take the kids…”

He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping into something softer. Dangerous. “…but I’m keeping their mother.”

The words hit heavier than you expected.

And just like that, the fire in your lungs flickered— not extinguished, just shaken.

He didn’t smirk, didn’t move. He just looked at you, like he was waiting for her to understand.

And you hated it. Hated how one sentence from him still had the power to make her hesitate.