“Good morning, Daddy,” the boys said together.

Harry, distracted, grabbed a piece of toast and hurried back to his room.

“Sara, where’s my white shirt?” Harry yelled from his room.

“It’s in the laundry with the whites,” Sara responded.

Harry burst into the dining room, visibly upset. “That’s my lucky shirt! I needed it for today!”

“I didn’t have enough whites for a full load until today. You have other white shirts!”

“This is a big day for me, and you’re making excuses?” Harry snapped back.

“You’re overreacting, Harry. Your presentation matters, not the shirt. Stop making a fuss,” Sara replied calmly.

“Oh really? I’m making a fuss? You want to do this now?”

“Do what, Harry? You’re causing a scene over nothing. No one cares about your shirt color; they’ll be focused on your presentation.”

“A goddamn presentation? Did you just say that? Do you know how hard I’ve been working on this?”

“Watch your language. The kids…”

“You sit at home all day doing nothing,” Harry blurted. “Is it too hard to remember one simple thing? All you do is complain and do NOTHING.”

“Harry, stop. The kids are watching. You’re scaring them.”

“Oh really? And no one notices you on the phone all day gossiping? You could never be a good wife if you can’t even handle one simple task for me!”

Harry dressed in another suit and stormed out, briefcase in hand.

After a successful presentation and securing a promotion, Harry expected an apologetic call from Sara—a usual outcome after their arguments. However, this time, no calls came.

Assuming he’d win an apology anyway, he returned home with white roses, only to find the apartment empty. A note from Sara on the table read, “I want a divorce.”