I had just finished a week-long business trip and was desperate to get home. Tommy and Alex, my little bundles of energy, were likely bouncing off the walls, eager for my return. And Mark? Well, he was probably looking forward to handing back the reins. While he’s a loving father, he’s always been the “fun” parent, leaving the heavy lifting to me.

Pulling into the driveway at midnight, the house was quiet, just as it should be. I grabbed my suitcase and quietly unlocked the front door, eager to crawl into bed. But something was off.

My foot brushed against something soft, and I froze. Heart racing, I fumbled for the light switch. When the hall lit up, I gasped.

There they were—Tommy and Alex—curled up on the floor, tangled in blankets, fast asleep with dirt smudged on their faces and their hair sticking up in wild directions.

“What the…?” I whispered, completely baffled. Why weren’t they in their beds? What happened while I was gone?

I tiptoed past them, trying not to wake them as I made my way through the house. The living room was a disaster zone: pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked like melted ice cream littered every surface. Still no sign of Mark.

I hurried to the bedroom. Empty. The bed was neatly made, untouched. His car was in the driveway, but where on earth was he?

Then I heard it—a faint, muffled noise coming from the boys’ room. My imagination ran wild. Was Mark in trouble? Had something awful happened?

I cautiously pushed open the door, and what I saw left me speechless.

There was Mark, completely engrossed in a video game, headphones on, controller in hand, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers. But that wasn’t even the craziest part. The boys’ room had been transformed into a gamer’s paradise—LED lights lined the walls, a massive TV dominated one side, and a mini-fridge hummed in the corner.

I stood there, eyes wide, as anger bubbled up inside me. He hadn’t even noticed I was home, too busy with whatever game had him hooked.

Without a word, I stomped over and yanked his headphones off. “Mark! What in the world is going on?”

He blinked at me, dazed. “Oh, hey babe. You’re back early.”

“Early? It’s midnight! And why are our kids sleeping on the floor?!”

He shrugged, reaching for his controller. “They were fine with it. They thought it was an adventure.”

I snatched the controller from him. “An adventure? They’re not camping, Mark! They’re sleeping on the dirty hallway floor while you play video games!”

Mark rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting. Everything’s fine. I fed them, they had fun. Lighten up.”

My blood was boiling. “Fed them? You mean the pizza and ice cream in the living room? What about baths, or—oh, I don’t know—their actual beds?!”

“Sarah, relax,” he sighed. “They’re fine.”

That’s when I lost it.

“Relax? RELAX? Our children are sleeping on the floor like animals while you turn their room into a gamer’s den. What is wrong with you?”

Mark huffed, “I’m just trying to have a little me-time. Is that so bad?”

I took a deep breath, willing myself not to scream. “We’re not doing this right now. Go put the boys in their beds. Now.”

“But I’m in the middle of—”

“NOW, Mark!”

Grumbling, he finally got up and carried Tommy to his bed. Watching him, I couldn’t help but think how much he resembled the kids—one man-child, acting like he was their age.

I tucked Alex in, my heart breaking a little as I wiped the dirt from his face. That night, I made a decision. If Mark wanted to act like a child, then that’s exactly how I’d treat him.

The next morning, while Mark was in the shower, I snuck into his gamer cave and unplugged everything. Then, I got to work.

When he came downstairs, I greeted him with a big smile. “Good morning, honey! I made you breakfast.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Uh, thanks?”

I set a plate in front of him—Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes with a smiley face made of fruit. His coffee was served in a sippy cup.

“What is this?” he asked, poking at the pancake.

“Your breakfast, sweetie! And look what else I made.” I unveiled a giant, colorful chore chart on the fridge. “It’s your very own chore chart! You can earn gold stars for cleaning up, doing the dishes, and putting your toys away.”

“Toys? Sarah, come on…”

But I cut him off. “And remember, all screens off by 9 p.m. sharp. No exceptions!”

For the next week, I stuck to my plan. I unplugged the Wi-Fi at night, served his meals on plastic plates, and tucked him into bed with a bedtime story. Every time he did a chore, I made a big show of giving him a gold star.

By the end of the week, Mark was fuming. After being sent to the timeout corner for complaining about his screen time limit, he finally exploded.

“This is ridiculous! I’m a grown man!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are you sure? Because grown men don’t make their kids sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”

He deflated. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

I studied him for a moment, then smiled sweetly. “I accept your apology. But just so you know, I already called your mom.”

Mark’s face went pale. “You didn’t…”

Right on cue, a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal Mark’s mother, arms crossed and ready for battle.

“Mark!” she scolded. “Did you really let my grandbabies sleep on the floor for video games?”

Mark looked like he wanted to disappear. “Mom, I…”

But she wasn’t having it. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” she said, turning to me. “I’ll take care of this.”

As Linda marched off to the kitchen, I caught Mark’s eye. He looked genuinely sorry.

“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I really messed up. I promise I’ll do better.”

I nodded. “I know. But next time, let’s make sure you’re the dad they need—not the playmate.”

He smiled weakly. “Deal.”

And with that, Mark trudged off to help his mom with the dishes, hopefully having learned his lesson. If not, well, that timeout corner was always ready and waiting.