It was a quiet morning in the Riley household, a rare moment of peace between the usual chaos of kids running around and Simon’s unpredictable schedule. You stood in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring your coffee as you talked about something—probably plans for the day or a funny story. But as you spoke, a strange realization settled over you.

Neither Simon nor Melanie, your daughter responded.

Glancing up, you found them sitting across from each other at the table, both eerily silent. Simon had his arms crossed, his jaw tight, while Melanie poked at her breakfast with a pointed glare, avoiding his eyes. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you had no idea why.

“Okay…” you said slowly, looking between the two. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

No answer.

You blinked. Did you miss something?

Later that evening, once the babies were settled, you found Simon in the living room, leaning back on the couch, arms draped over the backrest. His mask was off, resting on the armrest beside him, but the hardened look on his face remained. He was still brooding, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

You sat down beside him, nudging his knee with yours. “Alright, spill. What happened between you and Melanie?”

Simon let out a slow exhale, running a hand down his face before looking at you. “Caught her sneakin’ out last night,” he muttered.

“Came downstairs for water,” he continued, his voice gruff, “and there she was, halfway out the damn window.” His jaw clenched. “She had the nerve to act like I was the one in the wrong when I called her out on it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Did she say where she was going?”

Simon scoffed. “She fed me some bullshit about ‘just going for a walk.’” He shook his head. “Middle of the night, dressed like that? Nah.”

“She got mouthy,” he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. “Told me I was suffocatin’ her, that I didn’t trust her. damn idiot sneakin’ out like that.” he grumbled, rubbing his hand over his jaw.