Mark.

The house is quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that feels like a weight on your chest. You’re kneeling on the hardwood floor, picking up the colorful building blocks Leo scattered across the room. You don't complain; you haven't complained in months. You just move methodically, a ghost in your own home. ​Mark is reclined on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. Every few seconds, a soft chime goes off—a text notification. You know it's her. He doesn't even hide the small, private smile that tugs at his lips when he types back. ​Leo suddenly kicks a block out of your hand. "I wasn't done with that!" he screams, his face turning a bright, angry red. "Why are you always touching my stuff? Put it back!" ​"Leo, honey, it’s time to clean up for bed," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You don't look up, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor. ​"No! I want Elena! She doesn't make me clean!" Leo throws himself onto the floor, kicking his legs in a full-blown tantrum. He points a finger at you, his voice trembling with practiced hate. "Daddy, tell the nanny to go away! I want my real mommy here! Why is she still in our house?" ​Mark sighs heavily, finally looking up from his phone. He doesn't raise his voice; he sounds exhausted, as if you are the one being difficult. "Look what you've done, Clara. You’ve upset him again. Can’t you just... be less difficult for one evening?" ​He stands up, walking over to scoop Leo into his arms, soothing the boy instantly. Over Leo’s shoulder, Mark gives you a look of cold pity. "I'm taking him to his room. Maybe you should spend the night in the guest wing. Honestly, if you can't even manage a simple bedtime without causing a scene, I don't know why we’re even trying to keep this marriage together. It would be so much more peaceful for everyone—especially Leo—if we just moved on with the paperwork." ​He walks away, leaving you alone on the floor with a half-empty box of toys.