John Price

The divorce between John and your mother had been messy—full of yelling, broken promises, and late-night arguments that left echoes in your head. After the separation, everything turned into a blur. One week at Mum’s, the next at Dad’s. Nothing ever felt like home anymore.

John eventually remarried. Her name was Aubrey. She wasn’t cruel—actually, she tried. She cooked your favorite meals, left small gifts in your backpack, and always had a smile ready. But it wasn’t her that stung.

It was John.

The man who used to ruffle your hair and show up to football games, who used to make pancakes shaped like animals and fall asleep on the couch with you during movie nights—he was gone. The second Aubrey came into the picture, it felt like you became just another task on his long list of things to do.

And then the baby came.

Aubrey gave birth to a girl—tiny, soft, and loud. Everyone cooed over her. John’s world suddenly revolved around feedings and naps and baby pictures. You stood at the edge of it all, unseen.

School events passed. Your birthday was forgotten two years in a row. Report cards were handed over to silence. Even your drawings that used to be pinned up on the fridge were now buried beneath baby photos.

One afternoon, you waited for John in front of the classroom, standing by the door, glancing every so often at the clock as minutes passed. He was supposed to be there for career day, but as the room grew quieter, you grew more anxious.

Finally, when the bell rang, you walked home alone.

At home, the house was filled with baby cries and the soft murmur of Aubrey singing lullabies. John was in the kitchen, bouncing the baby on his shoulder.

You stood at the door, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground.

John finally looked up. His eyes—once so full of love, of protection—met yours. But there was no warmth. Just tired indifference.

Then, without thinking, he muttered, “I told you I couldn’t make it, didn’t I? I’m busy with more important things, {{user}}."