Tiana’s POV

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

The vibration wasn’t just a sound; it was a rhythmic, mechanical intrusion that travelled through the wooden bedframe, up into the mattress, and seemed to rattle directly against the base of my skull. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, trying to cling to the fading remnants of my dream. It had been the same one again: the suffocating mist, the shrinking door, and that version of Ben with the hollow, terrifying eyes.

Buzzzzz.

Oh, for fuck’s sake," I hissed into the duvet.

I jolted upright, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. For a confused second, I didn't know where I was. The room was bathed in the hazy, dim pinkish orange of the dawn filtering through the gap at the top of the curtains. My mouth felt like I’d been chewing on a woollen rug - a lingering souvenir of the "Margarita Senoritas" session the night before.

I glanced at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. 7:30 AM. Far too early for a Saturday. I sank back down into my cosy, warm bed, pulling the covers up over my head to create a fortress of silence.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Curiosity finally won out over the desperate need for more sleep. Sleep is overrated, I told myself, though my eyes felt like they were full of sand. I reached out a fumbling hand, grabbed the phone from the nightstand, and swiped down the notification tab.

My jaw didn't just drop; it stayed open. Sixty notifications from Lovebomb. Sixty.

The breakdown was even more overwhelming: thirty-six potential matches, twenty direct messages, and four requests for "additional photos." I stared at the screen, feeling small against the sheer volume of digital attention. It was a staggering amount of data to process before I’d even had caffiene hit.

Beneath the barrage of dating alerts, the "Margarita Senoritas" group chat was already a war zone of activity. I tapped into it to find a selfie of Cleo and Marissa. They were jogging along the avenue, looking suspiciously glowy and athletic. Cleo’s black braids were perfectly contained, those pink tips flashing in the morning light, and Mari’s icy blue eyes were bright despite the hour.

How? They had polished off the exact same amount of margarita as I had. I had watched Cleo do a shot of tequila at midnight while Mari danced to a 90s throwback. How were they currently upright and moving at a pace faster than a crawl? It was a betrayal of the highest order. I looked like a swamp monster with a bird’s nest of dark brown curls, yet they were out there conquering the pavement. I ignored their "Morning Sunshine!" texts; I couldn't handle their high-octane energy without professional intervention.

I hauled myself out of bed, feeling heavy and uncoordinated. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror - olive skin looking a little sallow from lack of sleep, and my dark brown curls standing in a chaotic, frizzy halo around my head. I looked less like a high-powered Publisher and more like a woman who had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

In the kitchen, I performed the only ritual that mattered. I measured out the slow-roasted Peruvian beans, the intense, nutty aroma already starting to heal my soul. The sound of the machine - the hiss and gurgle - was the only music I wanted to hear. I poured the dark liquid into my favourite oversized mug and leaned against the counter, inhaling the steam.

Right," I whispered. "Let’s see what the 'bombers' have to say."

I sat at the breakfast bar, and opened Lovebomb. The very first message at the top of my inbox was from a guy named Greg.

Ooh, he’s actually quite cute, I thought, feeling a rare spark of optimism. Maybe Cleo was right. Maybe the algorithm wasn't a total disaster.

I clicked on to his profile. He had a kind face and a slightly crooked, mischievous smile. His profile picture was simple - no gym selfies, no "alpha" posturing. Just him in what looked like a professional studio of some kind. I wondered what a guy like that had to say.

I tapped the message. My jaw didn't just drop; it practically hit the granite countertop.

Greg: 'Hey there Tia - how would you like to be Tia-bagged by these Greg big balls tonight?'

How... what... how rude!" I hissed, the shock making me nearly drop my phone.

Accompanying the text was a photograph of what I assumed were Greg’s testicles. To be perfectly editorial about it, they were rather average-sized and disturbingly hairy. It was the digital equivalent of being slapped in the face with a wet fish.

The audacity was staggering. The pun was terrible, the delivery was unsolicited, and the photography was amateur at best. I took a deep breath, picked the phone back up, and took a screenshot. If I was going to suffer this, the girls were coming down with me.

I fired the screenshot and the photo into the group chat with a caption that dripped with sarcasm.

Tiana: 'Hey girls, if this is what dating apps are all about, I’m done before I even begin. My eyes need bleaching.'

The response was instantaneous. The chat suddenly filled with laughing-crying emojis. Cleo, never one to miss a beat, sent a series of gifs showing people dunking biscuits in cups of tea.

Marissa: 'Just give it a chance, Ti! There might be some ballers among those ballsers. Maybe he just has a very... specific sense of humour?'

Tiana: 'Specific? It’s unsolicited anatomy, Mari! I’m deleting the app. I’m moving to a cabin in the woods. I’m becoming a nun.

Cleo: Don't you dare. Just block Greg-the-Baller and move on to the next one.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I looked back at Greg’s profile. I scrolled past the... scrotal incident... and looked at his face again. He really was handsome. And the pun - as much as I hated to admit it - was so phenomenally bad that a tiny, traitorous giggle bubbled up in my chest. It was bold. Horribly, disgustingly bold.

What the hell, I thought. Maybe it was the remnants of last night’s tequila talking, or maybe I was just tired of being the 'safe' girl who never took risks.

I navigated back to his message and started typing.

Tiana: 'For a first impression, that was certainly... ballsy. But for the record, I prefer my tea without the extra baggage. Try again, Greg. Without the anatomy lesson this time.'

I hit send before I could chicken out.

Tiana: 'Are we still on for lunch today? I need fajitas to forget I ever saw that man’s pubic hair. Fandangos at 12:00?'

Cleo: 'I’m out! Kyle invited me for lunch. He’s starting a run of night shifts this week over at the firehouse, so I won't get another proper chance to see him for a few days :( sorry babe!'

I rolled my eyes. Hmm, yeah, okay Cleo. Ditching your besties for your new firefighter boyfriend. I loved her, but she was already in that "new relationship" fog where the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Marissa: 'Yes, yes, and yess! Ben is looking after the boys for a few hours so we can have some grown-up time. Took a bit of encouragement, but I’ve managed to convince him to "babysit" until at least 3.'

My blood pressure spiked.

Tiana: 'How many times, Mari? It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kids! It’s his damn responsibility too. He needs to grow up and grow a pair.'

It made me so mad. They were his kids - Henry and Harry were his flesh and blood - and Mari was the C.O.O. of a major publishing house, the breadwinner who had been stuck at home for the last eight months. He could pull his bloody weight for three hours while she had lunch with her sister.

Marissa: 'Maybe he can borrow Greg’s?' She followed the text with a shoulder-shrug emoji and a string of crying-laughing faces. I snorted into my coffee. At least she hadn't lost her sense of humour.

Tiana: 'Touché. See you at 12:00. I'll be the one wearing dark sunglasses and looking traumatised.'

I put the phone down and moved to the lounge to finish my coffee. I sank into my favourite armchair - a soft, fluffy velvet piece that usually made me feel safe. I tried to shake off the morning's chaos, but it lingered.

I decided to flick through a few more of the messages, hoping for something - anything - that didn't involve unsolicited anatomy. I swiped past a "Hey" and a "Nice eyes," and then, a name stood out that made the coffee turn to lead in my stomach.

Todd: 'Hey beautiful, how’s things?'

I deleted it immediately. Not today, Satan. Not today, not tomorrow, and not even if hell froze over.

Todd. The man who had managed make being a "sociopath" all his own. He had spent two years making me feel like my olive skin was too dull, my curls were too messy and my career at Masemann Books was "cute." He was a disaster I had barely survived. Seeing his name pop up on Lovebomb felt like a glitch in the universe.

I leaned my head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. Sixty notifications. One pair of balls. One witty comeback. And one ex-boyfriend from hell. And it wasn't even 9 AM yet.

I checked the window. The grey, dreary morning was settling over the city of Fellsdello. I felt that prickle on my neck again - the one from the dream. I looked down at my phone.

I decided a slow morning waz in order. I headed to the bathroom and turned the stainless steel taps on my oversized cast iron bath to the hottest setting. I slowly moved over to the shelf and began opening and sniffing bottles of bubble bath. What did I fancy today..... the sharp, grounding seasalt and bergamot, relaxing lavender and chamomile, the sickly sweet marshmallow or the energising orange blossom, grapefruit and amber. I settled for the seasalt and bergamot, pouring a decent amount under the tap and swirling the water as it foamed and a thick sea of bubbles emerged. I dried my hands and walked to my closet, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans and a frilly white blouse with a red, lacey matching lingere set. I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

I climbed into the bath and slid dowm underneath the bubbles, the burning hot water relaxing my tense muscles and washing the hangover away. I picked up my bottle of face mud, smothered my skim with the thick pink clay and laid back ready to relax for an hour.

By the time I had gotten out and dressed it was gone 10 o’clock. I checked my phone to see a message from Mari.

Mari: Hey babe. Can we meet at 11 instead? I’m famished! X

Great that gives me half an hour. Well, I suppose it’s dooable.

Tiana: Sure chic not a problem x

My phone buzzed frantically in my hand. Greg had replied.

Greg: 'Message received. Baggage-free zone from here on out. How about we start over? I’m Greg. I like spicy food and I promise to keep my trousers on for at least the first three messages.'

I smiled, a real one this time. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I stood up. I had a lunch to prepare for, a sister to support, and a very strong feeling that this "TiaRose98" experiment was going to be a lot more complicated than a few margaritas and rude messages.

Marissa’s POV

Waaaaaahhhhhhh. Waaaaaahhhhh.

The sound cut through my dream like a rusty blade. One moment, I was on a yacht off the coast of Amalfi, a waiter named Lorenzo bringing me an Aperol Spritz while the gentle Mediterranean lapped against the hull. The next, I was in a detached house in Fellsdello, staring at the ceiling in the grey pre-dawn light, listening to my youngest son’s lungs operating at full, terrifying capacity.

Ben," I whispered, nudging the mountain of duvet beside me. "Ben, Harry’s crying. It’s your turn.

The mountain didn't move. A loud, rhythmic snore rumbled through the room, sounding less like a husband and more like a contented walrus.

BEN!" I repeated, sharper this time. I drove a bony elbow into his ribs. He just grunted, rolled over, and pulled the covers higher, cocooning himself in a fortress of denial.

I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 5:30 AM. Fantastic.

You owe me big time, Mr. Bardeau," I grumbled, swinging my legs out of bed. The floorboards were cold, sending a shiver up my spine that chased away the last vestiges of the Italian coast. I slid my feet into my fluffy slipper boots and grabbed my dressing gown off the back of the door, wrapping it around me like armour against the morning chill.

Mummy’s coming, Harry," I called out softly, stepping into the hallway. The wailing ramped up a notch, a siren song of pure displeasure.

Suddenly, I heard the soft padding of little feet on the carpet. My four-year-old, Henry, appeared from his room, rubbing his eyes with chubby fists. His pyjamas were twisted, and his hair stuck up in a dishevelled tuft that made him look like a startled owl.

Mummy! Harry’s crying! He woke me up," he yawned, his voice thick with sleep.

Aww, sorry baby. Don’t worry, let’s go and see him together, shall we?" I took his soft, warm hand in mine. Henry was at that sweet age where he still wanted to help, even when he was half-asleep and grumpy.

I gently pushed the nursery door open. The smell hit us before we even crossed the threshold. It was a physical wall of odour, thick and acrid.

Yuck! Mummy, it smells in here!" Henry exclaimed, immediately pinching his nose and backing away. "It smells like... like the zoo!

He wasn't wrong. As I approached the cot, I saw the sight every mother prays to avoid before her first coffee. It was everywhere. The sleepsuit, the sheets, the pristine white sheets I had so lovingly chosen.

A "Poonami." Level 5. Total containment failure.

Oh, fantastic," I muttered, my voice dripping with the kind of irony that only 5:30 AM can produce. I scooped up a tearful, very smelly, and very slippery Harry, holding him at arm's length as I carried him over to the changing mat.

Henry, can you go and wake up Daddy? Tell him he needs to run a bath for Harry. Right. Now.

Can I jump on him to wake him up?" Henry asked, his eyes suddenly wide and sparkling with mischief. The sleep was gone, replaced by the chaotic energy of a small boy presented with a mission.

You might have to, darling. I’ve already tried twice. Maybe pull the curtains open and shout in his ear, too," I suggested, grabbing a pack of wet wipes.

Yay!" Henry squealed in delight. He sprinted down the hallway like a rocket. A second later, I heard the heavy thud of a four-year-old landing on a sleeping adult, followed by a thunderous Oomph! and Ben’s confused shout of, "Mate! What are you doing?

I smiled grimly to myself as I began the delicate process of peeling off Harry’s dirty clothes. It was like disarming a bomb. One wrong move and the disaster would spread to my dressing gown, and then I’d have to burn it.

Ten minutes later, I had Harry wrapped in a clean towel, though he was still fussing. Ben appeared in the doorway, scratching his head. His blonde hair was standing up in every direction, his eyes were barely open, and his t-shirt was on inside out.

Oh dear, babe. Poonami?" he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as if he were merely an observer to the chaos.

I looked at him, then at the pile of soiled sheets in the corner, then back at him. "Glad you find it amusing. Since it was your turn to get up, and since I’ve done the hard part of the cleanup, he needs a bath. He’s all yours."

I handed him the squirming baby. "I’m going to get these sheets in the wash and start breakfast. Once you're done, bring him down."

Yes, Ma’am," Ben said, finally looking a bit more awake. He kissed my forehead—the only clean spot on me—and took Harry. "Sorry, love. I must have been in a coma. I didn't hear a thing.

Selective hearing," I muttered as I headed past him. "Get scrubbing.

Downstairs, Henry was already seated at the breakfast bar, scribbling intently on a piece of paper with a blue crayon. The kitchen was cold and quiet, a stark contrast to the madness upstairs.

What you drawing there, bud?" I asked, looking at the coffee machine like it was a holy shrine.

He picked up the paper and proudly thrust it into my face. It was a masterpiece of aggressive brown scribbles. "It’s you and Harry, Mummy! He’s covered in poo, and you have poo all over your hands, and I put a peg on your nose for you too! Look, the peg is blue, your favourite!"

I stared at the drawing. It was disturbingly accurate. "How... artistic. That’s definitely not going on the fridge." I smoothed his hair down. "What do you want for breakfast, Henry?"

Cocoa Puffs!" he shouted, banging his fist on the counter. "And I want the big bowl!

Okay, okay, calm down," I sighed, grabbing the box from the pantry. "But only one bowl, or you'll be bouncing off the walls by noon.

I poured the cereal, the chocolatey smell warring with the lingering scent of the "nursery disaster" in my nostrils. Once Henry was happily crunching away, I turned my attention to the most important task of the day.

I reached for the canister of coffee beans, my hands trembling slightly with the anticipation of caffeine. I had just gripped the cool metal lid, ready to start the grinding process that would restore my humanity, when the doorbell rang.

The chime echoed through the house, shattering the peace. I jumped, my hand slipping off the canister and knocking a teaspoon onto the floor with a loud clatter.. I glanced at the microwave clock.

6:30 AM.

I tightened my dressing gown and padded to the front door, leaving the unmade coffee behind. I pulled the door open to find Cleo stretching on my doorstep. She was wearing a neon pink leopard-print tracksuit, matching trainers, and a headband that kept her braids perfectly in place. She looked like she’d stepped out of an 80s workout video, and she looked disgustingly energetic.

She stopped mid-lunge and looked at me, puzzled. "Why aren't you ready? Did you forget? We’re going for a run!"

My mouth fell open. The run. I had completely forgotten. My brain was so full of school runs, Henry's tantrums, and dirty nappies that the "Self-Care Saturday Run" had been wiped from my hard drive.

Oh god, Cleo," I groaned, running a hand over my face. "I completely forgot. It’s been a morning. Honestly, I haven't even had coffee yet.

No coffee? That's a crime," Cleo said, checking her smart watch. "Come on, Mari. The fresh air will wake you up better than caffeine. Go get changed. I'll give you five minutes.

Come in, hun." I sighed, stepping back to let her in. "BEN!" I shouted toward the stairs. "Cleo’s here! You’re on kid-watch!

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs. He had worked fast; Harry was now pristine, dry, and fully dressed in a cute blue romper suit with a little dinosaur embroidered on the chest. He looked like an angel, completely absolved of his earlier crimes.

No need to shout, love. I’m right here," Ben said, descending the stairs with Harry on his hip. "Oh, hi Cleo. Bit early, ain't it?

We're going for a run, Ben. You're on duty," Cleo told him with a smirk, jogging on the spot in my hallway. "Go change, Mari! The avenue is calling! Chop chop!

Well, there's no arguing with you, Cleo," Ben laughed, bouncing Harry, who cooed happily. "Go on, love. I've got this. We'll be fine.

I trudged up the stairs, pulling off my dressing gown as I went. I caught a glimpse of myself in the landing mirror. Messy hair, tired eyes with dark circles, and a smudge of something brown on my cheek that I really, really hoped was chocolate from Henry’s Cocoa Puffs. I scrubbed it off, pulled on a pair of navy trackies and a sky-blue t-shirt, and tied my hair into a bun that could only be described as "desperate."

Won't be long, love!" I called to Ben as I headed back down.

As the front door closed behind us, the cool morning air of Fellsdello hit my face. It was crisp and smelled of damp earth and exhaust fumes, but it felt like freedom.

What a morning," I exhaled, falling into step beside Cleo.

Tell me all about it - f you can keep up, that is!" Cleo taunted, turning and starting to pick up speed. Her neon pink legs were a blur against the grey pavement.

Hey, wait for me!" I called, forcing my tired legs to move. "Some of us have birthed two children!

We jogged down the avenue, the rhythmic pounding of our trainers on the pavement acting as a kind of therapy. We passed the sleepy rows of houses, the newsagent just opening up, and headed toward the stile that led to the river path.

I finally caught up with her at the stile, breathless and sweating.

Smile!" Cleo held up her phone to snap a selfie before I could protest.

Cleo, no! I look like a tomato!" I gasped, clutching my side.

You look glowing!" she corrected, tapping the screen. "We should send it to the group chat. It will give us an excuse to ask Tia about Lovebomb. I bet she’s awake by now.

I clambered over the stile, not quite as daintily as Cleo had done. "Last one to the bridge buys the juices!" she shouted, already sprinting ahead.

Not fair! You always win!" I moaned, but I chased after her anyway. The competition felt good. It felt like me, not just 'Mummy'.

We ran for nearly an hour, looping through the park and back down toward the river. As we approached the bridge I noticed the sun was now fully up, and I was sweating, breathless, but feeling surprisingly human again.

Okay," Cleo said when I finally caught up with her, “Breakfast! Im famished!” We headed straight into The Boathouse, our favourite juice bar by the river. It was quiet, the early morning rush not yet started. The smell of fresh ginger and apples hit us as we walked in.

Two Berry Boosters, please - she's paying," Cleo told the barista, pointing a manicured finger at me.

We grabbed a table by the window overlooking the river. I slumped into the chair, grateful for the rest. I checked my phone. It was just past 8:00 AM.

So," Cleo said, taking a sip of her vibrant purple drink. "What happened this morning? You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you opened the door.

I told her everything - Ben’s initial refusal to wake up, the epic Poonami, Henry’s 'artistic' interpretation of my suffering.

The usual then," she laughed, shaking her head. "Ben needs a kick up the backside. He's a grown man, Mari. He’s their father. He needs to pull his weight

He does," I agreed, stirring my juice with a straw. "But he’s trying. I think. He just... gets so absorbed in his own world. But enough about my glamourous life. What about you? How’s Mr. Fireman?

Cleo’s face lit up, a genuine, soft smile replacing her usual sharp grin. "I was on the phone to Kyle until the early hours. He’s taking me out for lunch today at the Java Lounge. He’s going to be on nights for the next week at the Galencia Bay station, so it's our last chance to see each other for a while. I can't believe it's only our third date - it feels like I've known him forever!"

I'm so happy for you, Cleo," I said, and I truly meant it. She deserved to be happy. She worked harder than anyone I knew. "Just... make sure he's worthy of you, okay? No secrets.

No secrets," she promised. "He's an open book. A very hot, Italian blooded open book.

My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down and saw a notification from the "Margarita Senoritas" group chat. It was a message from Tiana, accompanied by a screenshot.

I tapped it open.

Tiana: 'Hey girls, if this is what dating apps are all about, I’m done before I even begin. My eyes need bleaching.'

I looked at the photo she had attached. I choked on my berry smoothie.

What?" Cleo asked, leaning over. "Are you okay?

You have to see this," I gasped, tears of laughter springing to my eyes as I turned the phone toward her. "Tia’s got her first match. And let's just say... it takes 'balls' to send a first message like that.

Cleo looked at the screen - at the photo of "Greg's Big Balls" - and shrieked with laughter, drawing stares from the barista. "Oh my god. Welcome to modern dating, Tiana."

I typed back quickly. 'Just give it a chance, Ti! There might be some ballers among those ballsers.'

We spent the next twenty minutes dissecting Tiana's reaction and laughing about the audacity of men on the internet. It was nice. It was normal.

We better head back," I said, checking the time. It was getting close to 8:45 AM. "I need to rescue Ben before Henry paints the walls with cereal or teaches Harry how to dismantle the toaster." I joked.

Yeah, I need to get ready for Kyle," Cleo said, polishing off her drink. "Thanks for the juice, babe.

We walked back at a brisk pace, cooling down. As we turned onto my street, I felt the dread of the day creeping back in, but it was manageable now.

I unlocked the front door at exactly 9:15 AM.

I’m home!" I announced, kicking off my trainers in the hall. "Just need a quick shower, then I’m all yours for an hour before I need to head out to meet Tia.

Ben poked his head out of the kitchen. "Did you have fun?"

It was good," I nodded. "Just what I needed.

I headed upstairs to shower. As the hot water hit my skin, scrubbing away the sweat and the stress, I thought about the day ahead. I was supposed to be meeting Tia for lunch at Fandangos at 12 PM. But my stomach growled, loudly. The juice hadn't touched the sides, and the run had turned me ravenous. Plus, Ben had mentioned a "Boys' Day" which usually meant the house would be turning into a warzone soon. I wanted out.

I grabbed my phone from the sink and sent a quick message to Tiana.

Mari: Hey babe. Can we meet at 11 instead? I’m famished! X

She text back immediately.

Tiana: Sure chic not a problem x

I wrapped a towel around my hair. I could hear Henry shouting something about "Boys' Day" downstairs.

I smiled. 11 AM sounded perfect. An hour earlier meant an hour less of chaos, and an hour sooner to that delicious Mexican meal.

Ben’s POV

There you go, buddy. All nice and clean.

I dusted a final cloud of baby powder over Harry’s chubby legs, the fine white mist catching in the weak, grey light filtering through the nursery blinds. The scent of lavender and talc hung heavy in the air, a cloying perfume that momentarily masked the lingering, acrid memory of the "Poonami" that had assaulted my senses only twenty minutes prior. It was a smell that seemed to cling to the back of my throat, a visceral, sensory reminder of the unglamorous reality of fatherhood.

Harry gurgled at me, a sound like bubbling water, and shoved his tiny fist into his mouth, his eyes wide and trusting. He kicked his legs with a strength that suggested he was training for the Premier League. He looked so innocent, so completely unaware of the biological weapon he had just unleashed upon his Mother.

Hungry, are we? Yeah, I bet you are. You’re empty now, aren't you? Let’s go see Mummy.

I scooped him up, resting his heavy little head against my shoulder. His body was warm and solid, a comforting weight that usually grounded me, but today felt heavier than usual. I patted his back rhythmically as I headed out of the nursery and toward the stairs, stepping carefully over a minefield of plastic bricks, discarded soft toys, and a rogue sock that seemed to have migrated from the bedrooms to the landing overnight.

I was halfway down the stairs, gripping the banister with my free hand, when I heard Mari shout my name. It wasn't a shout of alarm, nor was it a shout of affection. It was that specific tone - sharp, clipped, and efficient - that she used when she was handing over the baton of domestic responsibility. It was the voice of a leader, the one that said, 'Project handover initiated. Do not screw this up, Benjamin.'

I reached the hallway just as the front door was swinging open, letting in a draft of cold Fellsdello air. I glanced at the grandfather clock by the door. 6:30 AM.

Cleo stood on the doorstep, a neon blur of pink leopard print that was frankly aggressive at this hour of the morning. She was vibrating with energy, bouncing on the balls of her trainers like a boxer waiting for the bell. Behind her, the street was quiet, the rest of the world sensibly asleep.

My stomach dropped. I’d completely forgotten.

I had promised Mari that I would look after the kids today so she could have a day to herself - a "Mari Day," as we used to call them in the blissful, ignorant years before Henry was born. Back then, a "Mari Day" meant she’d spend four hours wandering through the dusty aisles of a second-hand bookstore in the city, drinking artisan coffee, and then meeting me for a long, boozy lunch where we’d talk about everything and nothing. Now? Now, a "Mari Day" meant she got to run until her lungs burned just to feel something other than "Mummy," followed by a lunch where she’d probably spend half the time checking her phone to see if the house had exploded.

Mari pushed past me on the stairs, heading up to swap her dressing gown for running gear. She looked exhausted. Her fiery red hair was a tangled halo of stress, and there was a tightness around her eyes that sleep hadn't cured.

I felt a familiar, dull pang of guilt in my chest. I worked long hours at Galencia Gaming - crunch times were brutal, and the code didn't write itself - but I got to leave the house. I got to put on headphones and vanish into a digital world. I got to have adult conversations that didn't revolve around the consistency of a toddler’s stool or the existential crisis of a lost teddy bear. Mari, despite her high-powered title and the fact that she was pretty much the top boss at Masemann Books - the only person above her being Mr Masemann; her father - had been in the trenches of maternity leave for eight months.

How’s things, Cleopatra?" I asked, shifting Harry to my other hip as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

Cleo frowned, looking me up and down, though I could see the slight curve of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "Who are you, my mother? It’s Cleo, Benjamin. Don't let the tracksuit fool you; I could still sue you into the next century if I wanted to."

I chuckled, a low sound. "I wouldn't dare doubt it.."

The four of us - Mari, Cleo, Tia, and me - had been a unit for as long as I could remember. We grew up together in Fellsdello, navigating the awkwardness of puberty in the same school hallways, sharing chips on the wall outside the newsagents, and hanging out in the same dingy parks drinking cider and waiting for something to happen. I loved Cleo and Tia like sisters; they were woven into the fabric of my life. But there was always something different about Mari.

She always felt like home. A safe place where I didn't have to pretend to be the loud one, or the smart one, or the funny one. I could just be Ben. I remembered it vividly - we were six years old, standing on the tarmac of the playground at Fellsdello Primary Academy. She had scraped her knee playing tag, and I had given her my last Rolo to make her stop crying. She looked at me with those icy blue eyes, teary but defiant, and I knew. Even at six, with my socks falling down and mud on my face, I knew she was the only one. When I asked her to prom years later, my palms sweating so much I thought I’d drop the flowers, and she said yes, I felt that same certainty. I thought we’d be the couple that made it look easy. The ones who kept the spark alive effortlessly.

But lately... lately, the spark felt like it was buried under a mountain of laundry, unwashed bottles, and unspoken resentments.

You okay there, Benbo? You look lost in your own world," Cleo’s voice cut through my thoughts, bringing me back to the hallway.

Yeah, I’m good," I lied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Just haven't had a coffee yet. Brain is still buffering. So, tell me about this new man of yours? A firefighter, I hear? Mari’s been talking about him like he’s a Marvel character.

Cleo’s expression softened, that hard legal edge melting away. "He's... great, actually. We're going to the Java Lounge for lunch later. He's on night shifts all next week, so I'm trying to squeeze in some face time."

Just as she opened her mouth to impart more details, Mari came thundering back down the stairs. It was 6:50 AM. She looked marginally more human in her navy trackies and a t-shirt, her hair scraped back into a functional bun. She was moving with purpose, desperate to get out the door before the guilt or the children could grab her ankles and drag her back in.

Won't be long, love!" she said, breezing past me. She didn't pause for a kiss. She didn't check on Harry. She just headed for the door like a prisoner making a break for the perimeter fence.

The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the hall, rattling the frame of the mirror.

Love... you," I finished to the empty air, the words hanging there, unreceived.

I stood there for a second, the silence of the hallway pressing in on me. Then Harry let out a squawk, reminding me that I was on the clock.

Right then, lads," I muttered. "Let's do this.

I headed into the kitchen to make Harry a bottle. The kitchen was already a disaster zone, thanks to Henry. He was perched at the breakfast bar, kicking his legs against the cupboards - thud, thud, thud - while using his spoon to excavate a hole in the middle of his cereal. Milk was splattered across the granite countertop, and Cocoa Puffs were scattered on the floor like rabbit droppings.

What you drawing there, mate?" I asked, reaching for the kettle with one hand while balancing Harry on my hip with the other.

Henry stopped digging and held up the paper. It featured two figures - a woman and a baby - covered in aggressive, brown scribbles. There was a distinct blue scribble on the woman's face.

It’s Mummy and Harry this morning!" Henry announced proudly, spraying a little bit of milk as he spoke. "Harry did a poonami, Daddy. It was epic. It went everywhere. And I gave Mummy a peg on her nose! Her favourite colour. But she didn’t have one actually I just thought I think she wishes she did" he babbled on.

My heart sank. I stared at the drawing - the raw, chaotic documentation of my wife’s morning.

I think sometimes I forget how difficult it is for her. Marissa wasn't just "Mummy." She was the C.O.O. of Masemann Books. She was a woman who used to command boardrooms with a single look, who managed budgets worth millions, who organised book launches for international bestsellers. She thrived on competence and control.

She’d been on maternity leave for eight months, with another four to go. To go from "Big Boss" to "Chief Nappy Changer," to go from discussing marketing strategies to negotiating with a four-year-old terrorist about toileting, was a psychological whiplash I wasn't sure I could survive myself. I missed my job when I was away from it for a weekend; she had been away for nearly a year.

That's... very detailed, Henry," I said, grabbing a bottle from the steriliser. "Why don't we put that drawing in the recycling, yeah? I don't think Mummy wants to remember this morning very much.

But I want to keep it! I love it!" Henry protested.

Okay, fine, but it’s not going on the fridge," I compromised.

“Yay!” He cheered joyfully.

She definitely needed this day off. I looked at the bottle warming in the jug of hot water. Maybe I could do more than just "babysit." Maybe I could actually be a husband. I could cook her dinner tonight - something fancy, a risotto maybe, or those sirloin wagyu steaks she liked - and give her a foot rub. I needed to do something to bridge the gap between us, to reignite the spark before it went out entirely.

The next hour was a blur. Henry demanded a banana, then rejected the banana because it "looked sad." Harry drank his bottle, threw up a little bit of it, and then fell asleep for exactly twenty minutes. By the time the clock on the microwave hit 8:00 AM, I felt like I had done a full day's work.

Then, my phone rang. It buzzed aggressively against the granite, vibrating through the noise of the cartoons playing in the living room.

I fumbled for it, a desperate hope flaring in my chest. Maybe it was Mari. Maybe she was coming home early.

I looked at the screen. It wasn't Mari. It was Greg.

Thank God," I whispered. Greg was my lifeline. My best mate from work, the guy who sat at the desk next to mine at Galencia Gaming.

Hey man, what’s up?" I asked, pressing the phone hard against my ear to drown out the TV.

Yo dude! It’s Saturday!" Greg’s voice boomed down the line, loud and distorted and full of an energy I hadn't felt since before the kids were born. "The sun is out, the birds are singing, and I am bored out of my tiny little mind. How about you and me go get some beers and shoot some pool down at Riley's? I need to get out and find me some honeys, man. I am having absolutely no luck on these dating sites. It’s like a desert out here. Tumbleweeds, Bruv.

I closed my eyes, picturing it. A pint of cold lager. The satisfying crack of pool balls. Silence. Adult conversation about something other than Paw Patrol.

Sorry dude, I can't," I sighed.

I opened my eyes just in time to watch Henry attempt a tentative handstand against the expensive fabric of the sofa while chanting “BOYS’ DAY BOYS’ DAY BOYS’ DAY” over and over and over like a broken record.

"I promised Mari she could have a day off. I’m on kid duty. We’re having a 'Boys' Day’ which currently involves me trying to stop Henry from breaking his neck and Harry from shattering my eardrums. We’ll probably head to the soft play later just to get them out of the house."

Suddenly, Henry’s ears pricked up. He stopped mid-handstand, crashing down onto the cushions.

Soft play?" he whispered.

Then, the volume returned, doubled. The screams of "BOYS' DAY" turned into a rhythmic, cult-like chant.

SOFT PLAY! SOFT PLAY! SOFT PLAY!

He started jumping on the sofa.

BUD! INSIDE VOICE! AND GET OFF THE SOFA!" I shouted into the living room, waving a hand uselessly. It did nothing. It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol.

Greg was laughing on the other end of the phone. A deep, belly laugh.

Man, listen to that zoo," Greg chuckled. "Since you had kids, you never want to go honey-hunting anymore, dude. You’re always too busy 'babysitting.' You used to be fun, Ben. You used to be a legend.

I bristled slightly. "Well, I am married, Greg. I don't think Mari would be too happy about me going 'honey-hunting' down the pub. And anyway, it’s not babysitting when it’s your own kids, Bruv. It’s just... parenting. It's keeping them alive."

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fair doos, bro," Greg said, his tone shifting slightly. There was a pause on the line, a silence that lasted a beat too long. "Hey, how about I come join your Boys' Day?

I blinked. "Really?' I can barely cope with two kids Greg let alone a man child.”

I know, I know," Greg said quickly. "But I’d love to see the boys. I haven't seen Henry in ages. And... I bet there are some damn fine single mums at that soft play, right? Sitting on the sidelines, drinking lattes? They’d love the 'doting uncle' vibe. I might even get a number if I play my cards right. The honeys can’t resist a guy who is good with kids.

I hesitated.

Greg was a joker. He was loud, sometimes crass, and his "honey-hunting" comments were mostly bravado. But I knew why he wanted to come. I knew why he was calling me at 8:00 AM on a Saturday instead of sleeping in at his immaculate, peaceful condo in town.

Greg had been a different person five years ago. He’d had a family - a younger sister he adored, parents who were his world. They lived in a lovely little house in Galencia Bay. Then the fire happened. A faulty cooker, a split-second mistake, and in the space of an hour, Greg was the only one left. It had been just over five years now, but the shadow of it never really left him.

Since then, Greg filled the silence with noise. He moved to Fellsdello, bought that flashy condo, filled it with gaming rigs and neon lights, but he hated being there alone. He acted like a clown because the quiet was too loud to bear. He needed to be around people. He needed family, even if they were chosen rather than blood. Mari and me, we were that family. He was like a brother to us and he was Uncle Greg to the boys. He gave just as much in return as he received - always there for any of us when we needed him.

Sure, okay," I said, my voice softening. "But the boys come first, okay? No wandering off after 'Yummy Mummies' while I’m trying to fish Henry out of the ball pit. I need an extra pair of hands, not a wingman.

That’s always my motto, man! Boys come first," Greg joked, his voice dripping with a double entendre that made me wince.

Gross, man. Don't be weird," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Just get here. But wait - Mari isn't back yet. Give it an hour or so. Come at 10:00?

Done," Greg said. "I'll bring doughnuts. Laters.

I hung up and took a deep breath. Greg coming over was a mixed blessing. He would wind Henry up even more, but at least I wouldn't be alone. And Henry adored him.

The next hour dragged. I managed to get Harry sorted, and Henry finally found his pants.

At 9:15 AM, the front door opened.

Marissa walked in. She looked flushed, her skin glowing with a sheen of sweat, smelling of fresh air and damp leaves. She was breathing hard, but she looked... lighter. The stress lines around her eyes had smoothed out slightly.

I’m home!" she announced, leaning against the wall to pull off her trainers. She winced slightly as she bent down. "God, Cleo sets a pace. I think my lungs are bleeding.

Did you have fun?" I asked, trying not to sound resentful of her freedom. I had no right. I got far more of it than she did. Going to work was easy compared to this!

It was good," she nodded, straightening up. "Just need a quick shower, then I’m all yours for an hour before I need to head out to meet Tia for lunch. I'm meeting her at Fandangos at 12 but I might change it to 11 actually because I am absolutely starving after that.

She walked into the living room and scooped up Henry, who had finally stopped jumping and put his pants on - and thrown the rest of his clothes around the room. "Hello, my little monster. Were you good for Daddy?"

Henry wriggled out of her arms, looking serious. "No Mummy!" he shouted, looking up at her with a very stern expression. "It’s Boys' Day! You are not a boy. No girls allowed. You have to go away. We are going to soft play with Daddy and Uncle Greg!"

Mari froze. She shot me a look, one eyebrow arched high. "Greg's coming? Honey-hunting, is he?"

She knew Greg almost as well as I did. She knew the drill.

I’ve made it clear today is about the boys," I said, walking over and ruffling Henry’s hair. "I don't think any 'honeys' are getting past this guy. He's security.

Mari giggled, the sound light and genuine. For a second, just a second, I saw the girl I’d fallen in love with at Fellsdello Primary Academy. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile reached them. God, she was beautiful. Even in sweaty running gear with no makeup, she was the most beautiful woman I hd ever seen.

Well, have fun," she said, tapping Henry on the nose and popping him down on the floor. "I'm going for a shower. I need to leave at 10:30, so try not to destroy the house before then.

She headed up the stairs, and I watched her go, watching the way her hips moved in the trackies, feeling a surge of longing that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with connection. Well, maybe a little bit to do with sex....

Harry let out a whimper from his bouncer, reminding me of my station.

Daddy, can I watch TV?" Henry asked, sensing my distraction.

Only if you get fully dressed first," I sighed. "but only for twenty minutes.

Henry cheered and ran to the lounge, leaving me alone in the kitchen with a sleeping baby and a cooling cup of coffee.

I leaned back against the counter, the sudden quiet washing over me. My eyes drifted to the laptop bag sitting in the corner of the room and my mind wandered.

It wasn't just the adult conversation or the lack of bodily fluids. It was the work itself. At Galencia Gaming, I wasn't just Ben the tired dad; I was the Lead Programmer. I built worlds - fantasy lands where the masses could escape the nuances of everyday life with just the click of a button.

In that world, everything had a logic. If something broke, you could trace it back to a missing line of code. You could fix it. You could compile it. You could make it perfect.

Parenting wasn't like that. Parenting was chaos theory. There was no 'Undo' button when you lost your temper. There was no compiler to tell you why your four-year-old was crying about his socks. It was a constant stream of runtime errors that you just had to patch on the fly, hoping the whole system didn't crash.

I looked down at my hands. They felt clumsy. I felt like I was losing my edge, like the sharp, analytical part of my brain was slowly atrophying, replaced by nursery rhymes and the feeding schedule of a tiny human.

Am I still that guy?" I whispered to the empty room. "Or am I just... Daddy now?

The microwave clock blinked at me. 9:45 AM.

Uncle Greg would be here in fifteen minutes with the doughnuts. Mari would be leaving in forty-five minutes to go be a person with Tia.

And me? I’d be here. Keeping the system running. Patching the errors. Waiting for the next crash.

It's gonna be a long-ass day," I muttered.