When I returned home from a week-long business trip, I expected to find my two sons, Tommy and Alex, tucked safely in bed, and my husband, Mark, relieved to share the load of parenting. Instead, I walked into a scene of utter disarray—and realized I had to take drastic measures to set things right.
A Shocking Discovery
Stepping into the house, my first glimpse wasn’t a warm welcome. It was my children, asleep on the chilly hallway floor. They lay tangled in blankets, dirt smudged on their pajamas, resembling a pair of kittens abandoned on the doorstep.
My heart pounded. Why aren’t they in their beds?
I maneuvered around them carefully, entering the living room to find pizza boxes, soda cans, and half-melted ice cream cartons scattered everywhere. The air smelled stale, like fast-food leftovers. But there was no sign of Mark—only his car out front, proving he should have been here.
Then I heard a muffled commotion coming from the boys’ room. My imagination ran wild: Is Mark hurt? What if it’s an intruder?
Fighting off panic, I pushed the bedroom door open and froze.
A Gamer’s Paradise
There was Mark, wearing headphones, completely absorbed in a video game. The boys’ room had become a neon-lit gaming haven: strings of LED lights, an oversized TV, and a mini-fridge packed with energy drinks and junk food.
“Mark!” I yanked off his headphones. “What on earth is going on here?”
He blinked, startled. “Oh… hey! You’re home early.”
“It’s past midnight! Why are our kids sleeping in the hallway?”
Mark just shrugged. “They thought it was fun—like camping!”
My pulse surged with anger. “Camping? They’re on a dirty floor! They’re not even covered properly!”
Rolling his eyes, he mumbled, “Relax, Sarah. They’re fine.”
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