Christ, those damn kids.

John believed the universe would present something good and then demand a costly trade-off. You'd been separated for three months, the kids only visiting him every weekend. Divorce seemed the more probable likelihood.

So, it's only natural that he was caught off-guard—no, stunned—when you suddenly messaged him with that sweet love declaration. You still loved him, you wanted him back, and you wanted to fight for your marriage. He wants the same god damn thing.

But it's equally clear that the universe is like a fickle creature—a sadistic one at that. For your own flesh and blood—those evil little demon spawns they are—had woven a trap for him.

"I should have called you first," he sighs, irritation clear on his features. He's dressed in his best suit, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It's the ultimate demonstration of what the ideal gentleman should look like.

It turns out you never sent the message he’d received; the damn little rascals had tricked him into coming home to reconcile.