My name’s Viki. I’m thirty-five and I teach English online to students all over the world—mostly from Asia and South America. My hours are weird, but I’ve built a good list of regular clients over the years.
I’m married to Kevin. We’ve been together a little over four years. When I first met Kevin, I thought he was amazing—charming, funny, and full of promises.
He told me he couldn’t wait to be a dad. That he’d be the most hands-on, loving father in the world. “You’ll never feel like you’re doing it alone,” he said once.
“We’ll be a team.”
I believed him. We had our son, Liam, in January—during one of the coldest winters I can remember. I held our newborn in the hospital, the windows iced over, snow falling softly outside, and I thought, We did it.
We’re a real family now. But the cracks began to show sooner than I expected. And they were small at first.
Two weeks after Liam was born, I had to go back to work. Bills don’t wait, and Kevin only worked part-time. To save money, we’d moved in with his mom, Donna.
Kevin had promised to help, especially during my evening lessons. He said he’d watch Liam as long as I didn’t work past midnight. That seemed fair.
But Kevin started sticking to a strict bedtime—11 p.m. sharp. It was like he’d flipped a switch in his brain and decided parenting didn’t apply after that hour.
Of course, anyone who’s ever had a baby knows they don’t care what time it is. Some nights Liam would sleep fine. Other times, he’d scream just minutes after I laid him down.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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