One night, I rushed out of the shower to the sound of my 3-year-old son crying, only to find him covered in red paint while my wife sat nearby, glued to her iPad. Frustrated and confused, I soon uncovered a deeper issue—one that threatened to tear our family apart.
It started like any other evening. My wife was lounging in her recliner, scrolling through her iPad, as she often did. The kids were supposed to be in bed, and I decided it was the perfect moment for a relaxing shower.
As I stood under the hot water, I heard a faint cry. At first, I dismissed it, thinking it was just a small whimper. But the crying grew louder, more desperate.
“Daddy! Daddy!” my son’s voice cut through the sound of the running water.
I quickly turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and rushed toward his room. As I passed through the family room, I saw my wife, still engrossed in her iPad, seemingly unaware of the chaos unfolding.
“You couldn’t calm him down?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
Without even looking up, she replied flatly, “I tried three times.”
That was it. No urgency, no concern. Just a casual remark. My frustration mounted, but I hurried into our son’s room to comfort him.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I found. My son was sitting up in bed, his body shaking with sobs. “Daddy, I made a mess,” he choked out between tears.
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