“I’m done with this!” I screamed at Luke.
“What exactly are you done with?” he yelled back, equally as angry.
“You! I’m done with you never being there for me! I’m done with you coming home at 1 am and showing me no affection! Luke, you make no effort in this relationship!”
“I do make an effort! You’re just too dumb and arrogant to realize it!”
My voice softened, “Really? Then why did our son ask me yesterday when he could see his dad? He said he misses you. Luke, he thinks you’re on tour. He has absolutely no idea you’re even sleeping in this house.”
His eyes trained in on the ground as he bit his lip sadly.
I sighed and walked upstairs, sliding on my shoes and packing a very small overnight bag walking to our son’s room - who somehow slept through all the yelling - and threw some of his clothes and necessities into my bag before scooping him up in my arms and walking downstairs. Luke wasn’t anywhere to be found, so I quickly left, getting in the car and driving away. We checked in at a motel for the night and went straight to our room.
“Mummy? Why are we here?” he asked me as we tucked into bed.
“Because, we need to be,” I whispered. “Get some sleep.”
Only half an hour later, Luke called.
“Please come back,” he whispered.
“Luke, just let us be, okay? We’ll come back tomorrow, but for now you need to get yourself together.”
The next day, when I arrived home, Luke had cleaned the house and made a massive lunch for the three of us.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, walking over to us.
I sighed and hugged him tightly as our son clung to his leg, seeing him for the first time in two weeks.
“I love you,” I mumbled.
“I love you, too.”
