who: sebastian langford ( @egotistival )
It was nearly midnight when the crying started again â not sharp or angry, but the soft, hiccuping kind that broke Evieâs heart every time. She was still in her work blouse, makeup smudged somewhere between mascara and shadows, a glass of untouched wine on the coffee table. It had been a brutal day â back-to-back meetings, a client meltdown, a half-hearted attempt at dinner with Max that ended with chicken nuggets flung across the kitchen floor. And now this. Again.
She padded barefoot down the hallway, her blouse untucked and her hair in a loose knot that had long given up. Maxâs nightlight cast shifting stars across the ceiling, but it hadnât done the trick. Nor had the lullabies. Or the stories. Or the stuffed dragon that used to be enough. âSweetheart,â she whispered gently as she knelt by the bed, brushing sweaty curls off his flushed face. âItâs just Mummy tonight, Daddy will see you in the morning. Youâre safe, I promise.â But Max only cried harder, curling into himself with a broken, whimpering, âNo monsters unless Daddy checks. Want Daddy check.â
She closed her eyes. It wasnât even about being replaced â it wasnât jealousy. She could live with that. What gutted her was the helplessness. That she couldnât fix this. That all the books and podcasts and parenting guides she devoured late into the night had no answer for the aching, human mess of a child who just wanted his dad. And she couldnât blame him, not really â Sebastian had always been magic at this. He knew exactly how to chase the imaginary threats from under the bed and could somehow make Max laugh through his tears in under five minutes. Meanwhile, Evie⌠Evie was good at holding the fort. At keeping them all upright. At pretending she wasnât falling apart.
But tonight, pretending felt like a luxury she didnât have. She stood up and walked out of the room quietly, closing the door behind her. Maxâs cries still floated through, muffled and raw. Her phone was already in her hand by the time she reached the kitchen. She stared at the screen for a long second before pressing Sebastianâs name, thumb hovering just a moment before committing. When he picked up, she didnât even try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. âIâm sorry to call this late,â she murmured, a hand bracing the counter for balance. âItâs Max. He wonât sleep. Heâs asking for youâ only you. Iâve tried everything, Seb. I donât know what else to do.â There was a beat. A breath. And then he said heâd come.
She didnât even hang up properly â just set the phone down and leaned back against the counter, staring out at the dark garden. The guilt was loud in her head. You should be able to handle this. You should be enough. But some nights, love wasnât the same as being the one he needed.
By the time the knock came, the house was silent again. Max had cried himself quiet, a small mercy, though it did little to untangle the knot in her chest. Evie padded to the front door, still barefoot, still in that same blouse from this morning, and opened it. For a moment, she just looked at him â silhouetted in the golden hallway light, shadows softening the tired lines around her eyes. There was a flicker of something in her expression, caught somewhere between gratitude and unraveling, but she didnât let it linger. Instead, she stepped aside without a word, letting him pass as she quickly busied herself with the nearest cushion on the hallway bench â fluffing it once, then again, as if the fabric might somehow absorb the fray in her nerves. She didnât look at him right away, fingers smoothing the same invisible crease as her voice finally came, quiet and carefully even.
âHeâs still awake. Or half-asleep, maybe. But heâs been asking for you all night.â
