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.
But Kevin refused to budge. Then came that night. It was 10:45 p.m., and I was on the edge of our bed nursing Liam.
Kevin came out of the shower, towel around his waist, dripping wet. He rubbed his eyes and asked, “What time’s your lesson?”
“Eleven,” I said. “Same student from Korea.
I’ll try to get Liam down before then.”
Kevin snorted and pulled on his pajama pants. “What’s your plan if he wakes up?” he asked coldly. “My bedtime’s eleven.
You know that.”
I looked up at him, confused. “Maybe you could rock him a little? Or let him lay on the mat for a bit?”
He folded his arms, voice sharp.
“My bedtime is 11 p.m. If he wakes up, that’s your problem.”
I felt something in me crack. Liam sighed in my arms, innocent and unaware of the tension.
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