One evening, I hurried out of the shower to the sound of my 3-year-old son crying, only to find him covered in red paint while my wife sat nearby, absorbed in her iPad. Confused and frustrated, I soon discovered this wasn’t just about the mess—it was a sign of a deeper issue threatening our family.
The night had started like any other. My wife was in her recliner, scrolling through her iPad, and the kids were supposed to be asleep. I decided to take a quick shower, enjoying a rare moment of peace.
But as I stood under the warm water, I heard my son’s faint cry. At first, I thought it was nothing, but his crying grew louder. “Daddy! Daddy!” he wailed, his voice filled with distress.
I shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and rushed out. As I passed the family room, I noticed my wife still fixated on her iPad, oblivious to the chaos. “You couldn’t calm him down?” I asked, trying to mask my frustration.
“I tried three times,” she replied flatly, not even looking up.
I hurried into our son’s room, expecting the usual—maybe he was scared or had spilled something. But when I picked him up, I noticed his pajamas were soaked. My heart stopped as I realized the extent of the mess—red paint was everywhere. It covered his clothes, bed, and even his hair. For a split second, I feared it was blood, but it was just the paint from an earlier craft session.
“Daddy, I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him, though my mind raced. How could my wife not notice? How could she ignore his cries?
After cleaning him up, I returned to the family room, anger simmering. “How did you not hear him crying?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I told you, I tried three times,” she said again, barely acknowledging the situation.
“But he said you didn’t check on him at all,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over.
She shrugged, indifferent, as if it didn’t matter.
At that moment, I realized this was bigger than a spilled jar of paint. Something was wrong—something I didn’t know how to fix. The next morning, I made a decision. I packed a bag for our son and me. I needed time to think, space to understand what was happening.
I drove to my sister’s house, and after settling in, I made an unexpected call to my mother-in-law. I needed answers. “Something’s wrong with your daughter,” I said. “She ignored our son last night, and this isn’t the first time. She’s distant. It’s like she doesn’t care anymore.”
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