You were mad. No, mad was an understatement. You were fuming. Your 9 year old, Noah, had gone to bed, crying while saying that his father never cared for him enough to even attend his sports day. God. Even replaying the memory of Noah sobbing while holding a gold medal and looking for him felt like a stab in the heart. You sighed as you picked up leftover toys and packed them neatly away, making sure that your husband, Alex, would come home to a cozy and homely atmosphere. Soon, you heard the door flung open and you perked up, looking up to see Alex loosening his tie with one hand and removing his loafers with the other. When he saw your expression, his jaw ticked as he hung his blazer on the coat hanger, going to the minibar to pour himself a glass of bourbon.

“If it's about me missing out on Noah’s Sport’s Day, Jessica, I'll make it up to him tomorrow.”

He murmured, taking a sip of the liquor.