Chapter Sixty Two: Daddy's Day

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Hello everyone! This is the chapter that I wrote to thank you all for 100,000 reads! I hope you all like it. It's supposed to be cute and comedic, but if you don't think so, well, I guess that's your problem. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you so much for reading, voting, and commenting. 


Tom walks into the house only to be greeted with toys scattered across the floor, a blanket fort set up in the living room, crayon drawings on the walls, and a mysterious yellow goop dripping off of the stair railing. He toes off his shoes, immediately regretting it as he takes a step forward and steps on a tiny plastic triceratops.

"Holy shiiii-" He stops, mid-swear, at the sight of his young son walking into the room. The boy looks at his father, his head tilted to one side, before picking up the dinosaur, examining it, and turning to retreat into his fort. "William," Tom grits, trying to forget the pain, "where's your mum?"

"Bedroom," William mutters, not even bothering to turn to look at his father.

Tom walks into the bedroom to see you sprawled out on the bed, sleeping peacefully with your two week old daughter on your chest. He climbs onto the bed and kisses your forehead gently. Your eyes flutter open slowly.

"Where's William?" you mumble.

"In the living room. He's okay."

"What time is it?"


You groan. "Crap. I've been sleeping for almost three hours." Tom lifts Eleanor up and holds her against his chest. You sit up and stretch.

He sighs. "You need the rest."

You narrow your eyes. "What was that?


"The sigh? Why did you sigh like that?"

He purses his lips. "It's just...the house is a mess. There's crayon on the walls, toys all over, dishes in the sink, and something yellow is dripping off of the railing."

You roll your eyes. "Well I'm sorry for being too busy to clean the house because I'm trying to raise your children."

"I thought they were our children. It takes two to make a baby."

"It depends on my mood," you quip.

"I'm sorry," he says, taking your hand. "I know it's hard."

"No. You don't. You're only here half of the time. I'm with them all day, every day. I have to make sure that both kids are fed, cleaned, clothed, and happy. I've got to make sure that William gets a nap in, and that Eleanor eats every few hours. I'm the one who gets up with her at midnight when she's screaming. I'm the one who has to comfort William if he's had a nightmare. I haven't left the house since I got home from the hospital. I'm exhausted all the time. I never get any time to myself, but at the same time, I miss actual, social interaction with adults who can hold a conversation. And to top it all off, I've got to make a trip to the grocery store, because we're running severely low on food that can be deemed acceptable to feed any living human being," you finish just as tears begin to escape your eyes. You lean forward and bury your face in your hands, the built up stress of the last two weeks finally letting itself out.

Tom sighs before wrapping his free arm around you and pulling you close to him. You grab a hold of his shirt and cry into it for a few minutes. He waits until you've settled down before he speaks again.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea how much stress you were under. I wish you would have told me. How about I take care of the kids tonight, and you can have the rest of the night off? I'll take both of the kids shopping with me, and I'll make dinner, and put them to bed. You can stay home and sleep, or go out with friends, or do anything you want."

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