Chapter 2

Dad's face dropped instantly.

"The kid is standing right here. Do you really have to keep traumatizing her with this sick joke?"

He turned into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Inside was a steak Mom had marinated a few days prior, complete with a bright pink sticky note:

"Remember to sear this for him over the weekend."

Dad stared at the note for two seconds, tore it down, and crumpled it into a ball.

Walking back to the foyer, he pulled Mom's house slippers from the rack and set them neatly on the hardwood floor.

"Her feet get cold easily. Don't let her walk around barefoot when she gets back."

Then he picked up his phone and sent Mom a voice message.

"I bought tickets to that movie you wouldn't stop talking about."

His tone was almost tender.

"Stop being dramatic. Just come home."

"If you really need an apology, I don't mind saying a few sweet things."

He gave a dry chuckle.

A beat later, his voice hardened.

"But using the kid to lie, claiming you died? You crossed a serious line this time."

"Even Vanessa said that no matter how ugly fights get, you never weaponize life and death."

Eleanor trembled with fury.

"Why won't you just go to the hospital and look for yourself?!"

Dad smirked coldly.

"If I go now, wouldn't that teach her this stunt actually works?"

"What's next? Every Friday night I'm unavailable, is she going to die again?"

Eleanor raised her hand to strike him, but I caught her arm.

Dad scoffed, acting as if he were the injured party.

"Vanessa and I just talk to decompress! When have I ever said I didn't want Clara?"

"She's my wife. The house is hers. I hand over my paycheck."

"Can't I have one single night a week to myself?"

As he spoke, he picked up a framed photo on the console table, wiped off a speck of dust, and set it back down.

"Don't I know what she likes?"

"When have I ever denied her anything she asked for?"

"Just because Vanessa is our company's new wellness coach, you act like I'm cheating on Clara."

"She's just teaching me how to manage burnout and protect my personal space."

Dad sounded completely righteous.

It turned out he never believed he was choosing between two women.

He wanted Mom to keep the domestic life running, and he wanted Vanessa to give him carefree, zero-responsibility Saturdays.

He wanted both, and he honestly believed he was cheating neither.

He looked down at me, his voice softening again.

"Mia, go tell your mom."

"Tell her to quit acting like a spoiled child."

"Tell her not to make things so ugly. Didn't I come back on Monday like I always do?"

As we walked toward the door, Dad called out behind us:

"Tell your mom to hurry back."

"Tell her not to starve herself. Whenever her stomach flares up, she skips meals, and then she'll whine that I don't care."

He leaned down and adjusted my backpack straps.

The gesture was identical to how he had always done it.

A second later, he added:

"And tell her not to push me to go to the hospital."

"The second she apologizes to me, I'll drive over and bring her home."

I looked up into his eyes.

"What if she really is dead?"

Dad didn't even hesitate.

"Then I'll get down on my knees and beg her forgiveness."

He actually let out a short laugh.

"Enough. Don't pick up your mother's manipulative habits."

At 9:00 PM, another text popped up on Mom's phone:

"Mia has school tomorrow. Don't be such an irresponsible mother."

At 10:30 PM:

"Be home before tomorrow night."

"Keep this up, and don't ever bother coming back. "

Mom had worried about making me late for school even as she was dying on the floor.

Dad was still lecturing a corpse on how to be a mother.