Chapter 1: The Nerf War That Broke Us

I was having a Nerf gun fight with my son, and of course I let him win. He burst out laughing, a sound that filled the room and made me grin despite myself.

His giggles bounced around the living room, and Nerf darts were everywhere—like confetti at a birthday party. He aimed right for my chest, that big, proud grin on his face, and I let him hit me square in the heart. Honestly, that's the best part of being a dad—letting your kid think he's the hero.

“No wonder Mom says your gun is small and Uncle Ray’s is big. Dad, you’re just clueless!”

He said it with that mischievous innocence only a six-year-old can pull off, but the words hit hard, sharp as a slap. I stared at him. My mind just stopped. The air in the room thickened, heavy. My hands tightened around the plastic grip, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

My mind went blank—like static blew through my head. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

My heart pounded, twisting my stomach into knots. Was this just a kid repeating something he didn’t get, or was there something real behind it? God, was I overthinking this? The words just bounced around my skull, refusing to settle.

Thinking about how my wife had been treating me lately, I started to get that sinking feeling in my gut.

I tried to brush it off, but the way she'd been cold to me lately, dodging my calls, just came rushing back. It was like rewinding a movie—suddenly, every little thing looked suspicious.

Not long ago, I’d gotten slammed with a huge case at work. I hadn’t been home for nearly two weeks. After all that time—no home-cooked meals, no real sleep—once I wrapped things up yesterday, I rushed straight home.

I remember driving through the night, desperate for my own bed and the smell of coffee in the morning. City lights blurred past as I pictured my son’s sleepy hug, my wife’s soft smile. I missed them, more than I’d ever admit out loud.

Lillian—my wife, my college classmate, all fair skin and long legs—was waiting. The moment I walked in, I went straight for her, grinning.

She looked up from the couch, magazine in her lap, legs curled under her. She always had that kind of effortless beauty, the sort that made you feel like a college kid again, chasing her across campus. I dropped my bag, arms open for a hug, hoping she’d missed me too.

“I’ve got my HPV vaccine tomorrow. The doctor said I can’t have sex before then, so you’ll just have to wait, mister.”

She said it with a teasing smile, but she looked away, and suddenly, it felt like I was a stranger. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, closing herself off.

What kind of doctor says that? I tried to keep it light. “Since when does getting a shot mean a married couple can’t sleep together?”

I tried to laugh it off, hoping she’d join in, but the words just hung between us. The TV was on—some late-night host cracking jokes no one was laughing at.

She just smiled, didn’t answer, and nudged me out. That was it.

Her touch was gentle, but there was a finality to it. The door clicked shut behind me. I stood there, staring at the wood grain. What was I missing?

I was pissed, but I’m not a kid anymore. I can keep it together. Or at least, I thought I could. I figured I’d just wait until she got back from her appointment and then we could make up for lost time.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that marriage is supposed to be about patience. Still, something just felt off.

Who would’ve thought that just by playing with my kid at home, I’d hear something that blew everything up? All it took was one game. One stupid comment.

It’s always the little things, isn’t it? The throwaway lines, the stuff you almost don’t hear. But once it’s out there, you can’t un-hear it. Suddenly, everything felt wrong.