After a week away, I came home anxious to see my family. I never imagined finding my sons, Tommy and Alex, ages 6 and 8, sleeping on the cold, dirty hallway floor. My heart raced. Something was very wrong.
I had left my husband, Mark, in charge of the children while he traveled for work. He has always been a good father – fun, but somewhat careless – and I thought he would handle the situation. However, what I found when I returned left me speechless.
As I entered the dark house, I stumbled over something soft. I turned on the light and saw my little ones rolled up in blankets, sleeping like two abandoned puppies. They were dirty, disheveled and completely exhausted.
I walked carefully down the hallway, avoiding waking them up, and went into the living room. The place was a mess: pizza boxes, soda cans and melted ice cream were strewn everywhere. But Mark was gone.
With my heart in my throat, I headed for our room. The bed was untouched, as if no one had used it. Mark’s car was still in the garage, but there was no sign of him. Then, I heard muffled noises coming from the children’s room.
Cautiously, I pushed open the door and, to my surprise, found Mark playing video games. He was surrounded by cans of energy drinks, bags of snacks and seemed completely oblivious to the chaos around him.
The room, once the kids’ room, had been transformed into a gamer’s paradise: LED lights, a huge TV and even a mini fridge in the corner. I froze, trying to process what I was seeing.
“Mark!” I shouted, taking the headphones from him. He turned around with a carefree smile. “Oh, hi, sweetie. You’re early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our kids sleeping on the hallway floor?”
She shrugged. “They were having fun. They said it was like an adventure.”
Furious, I snatched the controller out of his hands and demanded an explanation. Mark tried to justify himself by saying he was “taking some time for himself.” That only added to my anger.
That night, I took the kids to sleep in makeshift beds and decided Mark needed to learn a lesson.
The next morning, I put my plan into action. I transformed Mark’s routine into something kid-worthy: a chore chart, meals served on children’s plates, and strict limits on video games. Although he complained, I stuck to my guns.
A week later, after much reflection (and the help of his mother, whom I called to intervene), Mark finally understood the gravity of his actions. He sincerely apologized and promised to change.
Eventually, the house returned to normal and Mark proved to be a more present and responsible parent. Me? I was relieved, but I kept the chore chart on the refrigerator, just in case.
This story is a work of fiction based on creative events and is for purely narrative purposes.