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.
