“Richard!” Linda shrieked, dropping her glass. “You’re home early!”
Richard’s eyes swept the room—the empty bottles, his daughter kneeling on the floor, trembling, holding the baby in one arm. In that instant, the truth hit him harder than any words could.
Linda stammered, “It’s not what it looks like—”
“Enough!” he roared. “Get out of my house, right now!”
Linda froze, realizing for the first time that the game was over.
The silence that followed was deafening. Linda’s painted lips trembled as she tried to steady herself.
“Richard, please, you don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly,” he snapped. “I can smell the alcohol before I even step inside. Look at Emma. Look at yourself.”
Emma stood frozen, her chest heaving, still holding baby Mason. The little boy whimpered softly, unaware of the storm around him. Richard’s expression softened when he turned toward her.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “give me the baby. You don’t have to do this anymore.”
“Dad, I didn’t want to cause trouble,” she whispered. “I just wanted things to be peaceful.”
“You should never have had to endure this,” Richard said, voice shaking. “I should’ve seen the signs.”
Linda scoffed, trying to regain control. “You think you can just throw me out? I’m your wife!”
Richard turned cold. “You’re a liar and a drunk. My daughter deserves peace in her own home. Pack your things and leave.”
