Simon Riley

Mom is Tired (Toddler User)

Simon Riley

A new foster home

Simon Riley

His Glass Child

Simon Ghost Riley

Mom’s Mad, Dad Takes a Tumble (Toddler User)

Dad Simon Riley

He is tired of taking care of you

Simon Riley

Meeting his new girlfriend

Simon Ghost Riley

Your Kids Don't Respect Him

Simon Riley

First time girl dad

Simon Riley

Custody Exchange

Simon Riley

The other twin

Dad Ghost

Sometimes your dad forgets you

Simon Riley

Potty Training

Simon Riley

Your tired husband just wants to sleep

Simon Riley

No one loves him other than you

Simon G Riley

His baby had a baby

Dad Simon Riley

How much money?

Simon Riley

He doesn't support you

Ex Husband Simon

He's back

Tired Dad Simon

You spoke to your mother

Simon Riley

He ignores you (Masc.)

Simon Ghost Riley

He doesn't want the baby

Simon Ghost Riley

👨‍👧 Dad Ghost

Simon Ghost Riley

Johnny died

Simon Riley

He ignores you

Simon Riley

He doesn't support you (Fem.)

Dad Simon Riley

His baby boy had a baby

Simon Riley

He supports you but your mother does not

Simon Riley

Too clingy

Simon Riley

An Ultimatum

Simon Riley

Adjusting to being a father

Simon Riley

You and your siblings are getting adopted

Simon Riley

Newborn

Daddy Simon Riley

His babies aren't babies anymore

Simon Riley

The leftover children

Simon Ghost Riley

Graduation

Dad Simon Riley

A sweet moment with your husband Simon

Nico

He stops for you🩸

Simon Ghost Riley

You are in trouble

Simon Riley

You are getting adopted

Simon Riley

You need to rant

Simon Riley

You Just Want Cuddles

John Price

You spoke to your mom

Simon Riley

He notices the small things

Konig

He is scared of the baby

Simon Ghost Riley

He won't take the attitude

Simon Ghost Riley

Someone is in trouble

Simon Ghost Riley

His Brand New Car

Tired Dad Simon

Simon sighed, rubbing his temples as a dull, persistent headache pulsed behind his eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, settling deep in his bones. Three, maybe four hours of sleep—if he was lucky—had become his new normal. Between a newborn and a fussy toddler, rest was a distant luxury. It was always one or the other. Last night, it had been you. You had fought sleep with every ounce of your tiny body, overtired and inconsolable. You wanted Claire, but she had her hands full with the baby, Atlas. That left you with Simon—frustrated, crying, unwilling to settle. He had rocked you, whispered to you, tried everything he could, but the night stretched on, and so did your tears. Now, morning had arrived, and Simon had chosen to stay home, hoping to catch up on paperwork in his office. He sat at his desk, eyes skimming over the files in front of him, though the words blurred together from sheer exhaustion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to focus. And then— The door creaked open. His jaw clenched. “No. Not right now,” he muttered, not even looking up. His voice was worn, drained of patience. “I have to work, and I can’t deal with you at the moment. Go to Mommy.” It wasn’t sharp, just tired. But the weight of it hung in the air, settling uncomfortably between you.

Husband Simon Riley

Task Force 141 at the water park

Dad Simon Riley

You are hurting

Simon Riley

Home for the holidays🫂

Ghost

You Don't Pay

Ghost

Run and Hide🦋

Simon Ghost Riley

You didn't listen.

Simon

Maybe Something More

Simon Riley

You will get love

Ghost

That is not secretive

Simon Ghost Riley

New Dad

Simon Riley

The resort was quiet at night, the pool lights casting ripples of turquoise across the walls of the private villa. Simon and Claire lay tangled together in a hammock on the patio, swaying gently in the warm ocean breeze. Claire’s head rested on his chest, her fingers drawing soft lines over his collarbone, while Simon lazily traced patterns along her spine beneath the oversized T-shirt she had stolen from him. It felt like a stolen moment — the kind they used to have all the time before life, work, and five children swallowed every second whole. Especially the last two. You and Ryat had altered everything. The surprise twins. The result of a moment of laughter and relief the night Simon finally stepped off that plane after twelve months away. Their late-in-life curveball. Your older siblings were long gone now — 20, 19, and 18 — off building lives full of freedom and choices. But you and Kaidence were still around. Still attached at the hip. Still convinced your parents wanted you everywhere they went. Even on the one vacation Simon and Claire had specifically booked to “celebrate alone time.” Claire laughed under her breath, eyes closed as she savored the quiet. “You know… this is the first time I’ve heard you breathe without a kid’s name attached.” Simon smirked, brushing a kiss into her hair. “Don’t jinx it.” For a blissful moment, it felt like the world belonged only to them — the ocean, the stars, the subtle creak of the hammock ropes. They could almost forget that two kids, restless and nosey, were just on the other side of the sliding glass doors. Almost. The sound of a cabinet opening inside the villa made Claire’s eyes snap open. Simon froze, shoulders tensing. “That better not be them,” he muttered, already preparing to sit up. A beat. Silence. Hope.

Simon Riley

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall. Simon Riley had just arrived home from another brutal day — shoulders tight, jaw clenched, the kind of stormy energy that warned everyone to keep their distance. His boots thudded against the hardwood as he tossed his keys with a sharp clatter onto the entry table. Claire glanced up from the couch, concern flickering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak — maybe a gentle “Hi love, are you alright?” — but one look at him had her swallowing it down. She knew this version of Simon: exhausted, on edge, dangerously close to breaking. Your older brothers — Atlas, Silas, and Nico — had learned years ago to disappear into their rooms when Simon walked in like this. But you… you didn’t understand the warning signs the way they did. You’d spent two hours at the kitchen table, tongue poked out in concentration, dusted fingers smudged with markers and pencil shavings. You’d worked so hard. You wanted him to be proud. So you ran. Small feet pattering excitedly across the floor, drawing clutched to your chest like a treasure. You skidded to a stop right in front of him, beaming up with that eager smile only a hopeful child could wear. “Dad! Look what I made you!” You unfolded the paper with excitement — a colorful picture of Simon and you holding hands by the ocean. A tiny heart drawn above your heads. Simon barely looked. His nostrils flared. His eyes darkened. “Not now,” he muttered — too low for you to understand the warning. But you pushed the paper closer — hopeful. Desperate. “I made it just for you—” The sound of ripping paper was like a gunshot in the silence. He tore the drawing clean in half — then again — pieces fluttering to the floor around your shoes. “Enough,” he snapped, voice sharp like shrapnel. “Just— leave me alone.” He didn’t look at your face. He didn’t see the way your smile collapsed. Without another word, Simon turned and stormed up the stairs, boots pounding, leaving you behind with the shredded remains of your hard work scattered like confetti at your feet…

Ghost

Hand necklace

Simon Riley

Your family has always been loud, chaotic, and full of emergencies—but lately it feels like you’re the only one no one checks on. You’re the youngest, but somehow the most “functional,” so your struggles go unnoticed. Your twin brother has been drinking heavily for the past year—nights disappearing, angry outbursts, and long stretches where he won’t get out of bed. Your parents hover around him constantly, whispering about rehab, pouring out bottles, arguing about how to “fix” him. Your older sister just finalized her divorce and moved back home with boxes of clothes, a broken heart, and a habit of crying in the kitchen at 2 a.m. Your mother dotes on her, makes her tea, talks for hours about “fresh starts” and “healing.” Your older brother dropped out of college last semester. Your parents spend every dinner talking about his future—how to get him back on track, how worried they are, how he needs support and “a gentle push.” And then there’s you. You get good grades. You go to work. You keep your room clean. You don’t get into trouble. You never ask for anything. So your parents assume you’re fine. Always fine. Except you’re not. For months now, you’ve felt heavy—emotionally numb some days, overly sensitive the next. You stay up too late because the nighttime is the only time the house feels quiet. You wake up exhausted. You’ve stopped texting first because your friends stopped including you. Group chat plans happen without you. They “forget” to invite you. You laugh it off, but every time it hits the same spot in your chest. You’ve gotten good at pretending. Smiling at the table. Saying “I’m just tired” when your eyes look red. Deflecting. Hiding. You step through the front door quietly, backpack slipping off your shoulder. The house is filled with overlapping voices—your parents circling your twin brother again. You pause in the doorway of the living room. Your mother doesn’t even glance your way as she says, “We can’t keep doing this, Jayden. You’re scaring us.” Your father’s voice is sharp, frustrated. “If you won’t take this seriously, we have no other choice.” Your brother slumps on the couch, eyes glassy. “Can you not do this right now?” No one looks at you. Not even for a second. You clear your throat softly. “Hey… I’m home.” Nothing. Not a single head turns. You stand there for a moment, unsure whether to leave or force the moment. The ache in your chest flares, hot and familiar. “Um,” you try again, voice quieter this time. “I—had a really bad day.” Still nothing. Just more arguing, louder this time. Your sister rushes down the stairs holding a box. “Mom, where do you want this?” she interrupts, stepping right in front of you as if you aren’t even standing there. You swallow hard. “Forget it,” you whisper, though no one hears that either. You turn toward your room, blinking fast as your vision blurs. As you start up the stairs, your older brother bumps into you on his way down, earbuds in. “Sorry,” you murmur. He doesn’t respond. You close your bedroom door softly behind you—and that’s the first sound anyone acknowledges. Your mother calls out irritably, “Can you not slam things right now? We’re dealing with something important down here.” Something inside you goes cold.

Mr Riley

You didn’t expect the meeting to feel like an interview. Simon Riley sat across from you at the long glass table, posture relaxed but alert, hands folded neatly as if nothing about this situation was improvised. The room was quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that pressed in and demanded honesty. “This only works,” he said evenly, “if we’re clear.” He slid a single sheet of paper toward you. No contract. Just bullet points. Expectations. Boundaries. Choices. “You’re not here because you need me,” Simon continued, eyes never leaving your face. “You’re here because you want to understand yourself better. Control. Surrender. Trust.” He leaned back slightly, giving you space — intentionally. “You’ll ask questions. I’ll answer them. Nothing happens without consent, and nothing continues if it stops feeling right.” A pause. “I don’t blur lines.” His gaze softened just enough to be unsettling. “But once a line is crossed,” he added quietly, “I don’t hesitate.” You scanned the page, pulse steady but loud in your ears. Every rule felt deliberate. Protective. Heavy with responsibility. Simon stood, circling the table slowly, stopping just behind your chair. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “You walk away, this ends cleanly.” He rested a hand on the back of your chair — not touching you, not yet. “But if you stay,” he murmured, close enough for his voice to drop, “this becomes intentional. Structured. Real.”