Chapter 4: Dad Wars and Jason’s Arrival

Live chat exploded.

“WTF, Carter’s got a screw loose? Kids fight all the time, why’s he butting in?”

A flood of emojis scrolled by: popcorn, facepalms, and at least three animated GIFs of kids crying in a Walmart aisle.

“And he dares be so harsh to little Tyler? Who does he think he is, scolding the Hollywood Queen’s son? I’m so mad, my fists are clenched!”

People were typing like their lives depended on it—fans rallying to Natalie’s side with hashtags ready to trend.

“Didn’t he always try to cozy up to Natalie? Used to treat Tyler like a boot-licking dog, but now his true colors are showing? Tsk tsk, can’t keep up the act anymore.”

If there was a Parent Gossip League, they’d be drafting stats on my fall from grace right now.

“I missed it when the camera moved, but it must’ve been Carter’s gloomy little kid who started it with Tyler, right?”

Misinformation spread faster than cold pizza at a sleepover.

“Yeah, Carter’s kid is way too obedient, that’s not normal.”

If I had a dollar for every time someone complained about a kid being too quiet, I could buy this whole set. Or at least a month’s worth of mac and cheese.

Ha.

I almost laughed out of rage. What kind of upside-down world is this—an obedient kid is abnormal, but a bratty one is in the right?

I leaned back, rubbing my temples, as if that would somehow stop the absurdity from leaking through the TV screen.

Reminds me of that little demon at my cousin’s place who wrecked my entire model collection, then blamed me for not being tolerant enough. I was already one nerve short of flipping the table.

I could still remember the look on my cousin’s face—half apologetic, half "kids will be kids." That was the day I swore—never again. No kid’s walking all over me, not in my house.

Live chat says my true nature is showing?

Perfect. In my last life, brats nearly gave me a heart attack. Why should I put up with it now!

I smirked at the camera, as if daring anyone to come parent these two for a day.

“First, you snatched Ethan’s toy. Apologize to Ethan.”

“Second, you better tell your mom not to talk to me, because I don’t want to talk to her either. I have zero interest in women who can’t control their bratty kids.”

My voice echoed through the living room, and for a second, even the dog stopped barking. I could sense a couple of crew members exchanging glances behind the camera, probably betting on whether I’d survive the night.

After I finished, Tyler wailed even louder, his little tyrant temper flaring, and started smashing everything on the coffee table.

He swept his tiny arms across the table, launching fruit, plastic cups, and a lonely action figure onto the floor. There was a shrill crack as something shattered.

Crash! Crash! Crash! Fruit plates and cups shattered everywhere.

A grape rolled under the recliner. Orange slices hit the wall. My eye twitched, but I kept my cool.

The floor was covered in glass shards.

I shot a look to the nearest PA, who looked like she wanted to melt into the wall. Clearly, "hazard pay" wasn’t in her job description.

With my extensive brat-handling experience, I stayed cool as a cucumber.

I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and reminded myself: I’ve survived family reunions and Black Friday sales. This was nothing.

I scooped Tyler up and tossed him onto the big couch.

He bounced once, twice, then settled, half-buried in pillows. I caught the camera crew flinching out of the corner of my eye.

The little guy rolled like a meatball, face buried in the pillow, and even burped—too scared to keep cursing.

I heard a muffled sniffle, but he stayed put, probably weighing the risks of further tantrums versus missing out on chicken nuggets later.

I bent down to pick up Ethan, patting his clothes to shake off any glass shards: “Come on, don’t play with brats. Dad will take you to wash your face.”

Ethan wrapped his arms around my neck, giving me a look that was half relief, half "are we really allowed to do this?" I carried him toward the kitchen, giving the camera a rare smile.

“Carter! You heartless villain!”

Tyler’s shout echoed after us, a little less confident now that he was stuck on the couch.