There Is Full Video Below End 👇
𝑺𝑬𝑬 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 👉 Full Video : Click
The aroma of burnt toast was Eleanor’s alarm clock, followed closely by the high-pitched wail of Leo, her youngest, who seemed to view mornings as a personal affront. It was 6:00 AM, and the ballet had begun. Eight-year-old Lily, ever the pragmatic one, was already at the kitchen counter, scraping the carbon off her bread with the focused intensity of a surgeon.
“Morning, Mom,” Lily mumbled, crumbs dusting her pyjamas.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Eleanor replied, fighting a yawn. Her life was a meticulously choreographed chaos, a delicate balance of school runs, client deadlines, laundry mountains, and the endless pursuit of a truly clean kitchen floor. It was a life she’d built from the ground up, brick by aching brick, after Mark, her ex-husband, had decided the structure was too confining.
Mark. The name was a dull throb in her periphery, an echo of a life she’d once envisioned differently. He was supposed to be the co-architect, the other pillar. Instead, he was the occasional visitor, the weekend warrior, the one who swooped in with promises of fun, then evaporated, leaving Eleanor to handle the aftermath of sugar rushes and neglected homework. His child support payments were regular enough, a testament to his lawyers’ efficiency, but his presence, his active presence, was as reliable as a British summer.
She was just pouring herself a desperately needed coffee when her phone buzzed with an incoming video call. It was Mark. Her stomach tightened. Mark never video-called unless it was important, or unless he needed something. Usually, the latter.
“Hey, Ellie,” Mark’s face filled her screen, looking perfectly coiffed, perhaps a little too tanned for a Tuesday morning in October. He was in his new minimalist apartment, all sleek lines and muted tones, a stark contrast to the colourful, crayon-splashed chaos of her own home. “Got a minute?”
Eleanor gestured vaguely around her bustling kitchen. “Define ‘minute’ when you have two kids, one burnt breakfast, and a client presentation due in three hours.”
Mark chuckled, a sound that always managed to irk her. “Right, right. Look, I’m calling because I’ve made a pretty big decision.”
Eleanor braced herself. “Oh?” She watched Leo try to feed his cereal to the dog, who was surprisingly discerning.
“Yeah. I’ve been feeling… stagnant. Trapped, almost. You know, since the divorce, I’ve been going through the motions. Work, the kids on my weekends, rinse, repeat. It’s not… fulfilling. I need to find myself, you know?” He ran a hand through his perfect hair, a gesture that used to charm her and now just filled her with dread.
“Find yourself,” Eleanor repeated, her voice flat. “Is this going to involve a yurt in Tibet, or just a new kind of craft beer?”
Mark ignored the sarcasm. “No, it’s bigger than that. I’ve booked a trip. Three months. Southeast Asia. Backpacking, volunteering, yoga retreats… the whole spiritual journey thing. I leave in two weeks.”
Eleanor stared, the coffee cooling in her hand. Three months. Two weeks’ notice. Her brain scrambled to process. “Three months? Mark, what about the kids? What about your weekends?”
“That’s the thing, Ellie,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, as if sharing a profound secret. “This is part of my journey. I need time off from all my responsibilities. To truly shed everything and just… be. I need to disconnect to reconnect, you know?”
Eleanor felt a cold fury building in her chest. “Disconnect from what, exactly? Your monthly direct debit? Because I assure you, that’s not enough to cover the actual being of parenting.”
“Ellie, please. Don’t make this difficult. This is for my mental health, my growth. I need this to be a better version of myself, for me, for the kids in the long run.” He sounded so earnest, so convinced of his own martyrdom. “You’re so good at this, anyway. You’ve got it all under control. And my mom said she could probably pop over a bit more often.”
Eleanor closed her eyes, picturing her ex-mother-in-law, a lovely woman who thought ‘popping over’ meant bringing a casserole once a month. “Mark,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet, “I don’t ‘have it all under control.’ I’m constantly juggling, constantly exhausted. This isn’t a hobby for me. This is my life. Our children’s lives.”
“But it’s only three months,” he insisted, missing the point entirely. “And I’ve already paid for the flights, the retreats, everything. It’s non-refundable.”
The sheer audacity, the blatant disregard, snapped something inside Eleanor. For years, she had bent, stretched, accommodated. She had covered for his late pick-ups, his forgotten doctor’s appointments, his vague promises. She had absorbed his slack, believing it was for the sake of peace, for the children. But this… this was too much.
“No,” she said, her eyes opening, a newfound steel in their depths. “No, Mark. You don’t get to take ‘time off’ from your responsibilities. You signed up for this the moment we decided to have children. It’s not a gym membership you can cancel when it gets inconvenient.”
Mark sighed, clearly annoyed by her lack of understanding. “Ellie, you’re being unreasonable. I need this.”
“And I need a break,” she shot back, a sudden, blinding clarity washing over her. “A real break. Not just a coffee in peace, but a complete, utter, unburdened break. From everything. And you know what, Mark? I think I’m going to take one.”
He blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Eleanor continued, a slow, determined smile spreading across her face, “if you’re going on a three-month soul-searching quest, then I think it’s only fair that I get to do the same. Two weeks’ notice, you said? Perfect. Because in two weeks, when you jet off to your spiritual enlightenment, I’ll be jetting off to mine.”
Mark scoffed. “Ellie, be serious. Who’s going to watch the kids?”
“You are,” she said simply, the smile unwavering. “It’s your turn. After all, if you’re looking to find yourself, what better place to start than by fully immersing yourself in the most important part of your life? Three months, Mark. Alone with the kids. No me, no crutches. Just you and your responsibilities. Consider it your ultimate retreat.”
The screen went silent. Mark’s tanned face paled, his perfectly coiffed hair suddenly looking less like a statement and more like a wig about to fall off. “You… you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am deadly serious,” Eleanor said, her gaze firm. “You want to be a better version of yourself for the kids? Start by being a parent to them, fully and without interruption. Let’s see what self-discovery that brings you.”
She ended the call, leaving Mark staring at a frozen image of her triumphant smile. For a moment, she felt a surge of exhilaration, quickly followed by a cold wave of terror. What had she just done?
Over the next few days, Mark tried everything. He pleaded, he reasoned, he threatened. He called her vengeful, spiteful, irresponsible. Eleanor stood firm. “It’s your time off, Mark. Your quest for self. Mine begins simultaneously. You have two weeks to prepare.”
She meticulously planned her escape. Not to Bali, or a meditation retreat, but to a small, isolated cottage by the sea she’d found online, nestled in the Scottish Highlands. No Wi-Fi, spotty phone signal, just books, sketching pads, and the wild, bracing beauty of nature. It wasn’t spite; it was survival. It was about proving a point, yes, but also about giving herself the space and quiet she hadn’t had in years. It was about re-filling her own cup, which had been dry for far too long.
She made extensive lists for Mark: school schedules, meal plans, allergy alerts, playdate contacts, bedtime routines, favourite stories, soothing tricks for Leo’s nightmares, Lily’s sensitive skin cream, permission slips, school project deadlines. She even colour-coded them. She packed the kids’ bags, leaving explicit instructions. She left emergency numbers, not just for herself, but for doctors, neighbours, and trusted friends who knew the kids. She anticipated every possible hurdle, making it as easy as possible for him to succeed – if he chose to.
On the morning of her departure, two weeks later, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Mark was there, looking bewildered, his own backpack leaning against the wall, ready for his flight later that afternoon. Leo clung to Eleanor’s leg, confused. Lily, ever observant, just watched her dad, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
“You’ve got this,” Eleanor told Mark, her voice calm. “Everything’s on the fridge. The school bus comes at 8:15. Lily likes her eggs scrambled, Leo will only eat toast shaped like a dinosaur. Don’t forget Lily’s piano practice on Tuesdays. And they both need a story before bed. No screens after 7 PM.”
Mark just nodded, a deer caught in headlights. He watched her embrace the children, whisper promises of return, and then walk out the door. The silence she left behind was deafening.
Mark’s first week was, predictably, a disaster.
Eleanor got fragmented messages from his phone, often late at night, filled with a new kind of panic.
- “Leo just drew on the wall with permanent marker. What do I do?”
- “Lily says she has a science project due tomorrow. I thought it was next week!”
- “The school called. I forgot to pack Lily’s lunch. Again.”
- “Is it normal for a kid to only want chicken nuggets for three days straight?”
- “I haven’t slept in 72 hours. Is this what a breakdown feels like?”
Eleanor, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching the stormy Scottish sea, resisted the urge to reply. She took deep, cleansing breaths. This was his journey. This was his self-discovery.
Slowly, the messages changed. Less panic, more bewildered observations.
- “Leo asked me to sing him a lullaby. I don’t know any lullabies.” (Followed by a video of Mark, off-key, singing an improvised song about dinosaurs, which made Eleanor smile.)
- “Lily helped me figure out her science project. She’s actually brilliant, Ellie.”
- “We had a ‘boys’ night’ with Leo. Made a fort and watched a movie. He kept falling asleep on my chest.”
- “Lily told me a secret today. I think… I think she trusts me.”
The guilt she’d felt about leaving began to recede, replaced by a cautious hope. She knew it was hard. She knew it. But he was doing it. He was seeing it, feeling it, living it.
For Eleanor, the Highlands were a revelation. She hiked until her muscles ached, sketched the stark, beautiful landscapes, read books until the words blurred, and simply breathed. The quiet was a balm, the solitude a canvas for her own thoughts. She started to remember who she was, beyond ‘Mom’ and ‘Provider.’ She remembered her own dreams, her own desires. She allowed herself to feel, truly feel, the years of exhaustion and resentment drain away, replaced by a quiet strength.
By the end of the second month, the messages from Mark were sporadic, but always different. They weren’t just about problems anymore; they were about moments.
- “We went to the park, and I pushed Leo on the swing so high he shrieked with laughter. I remember doing that with you, years ago.”
- “Lily is teaching me how to play that complicated board game she loves. I actually enjoy it now.”
- “I had a nightmare last night about forgetting a school pick-up. Woke up in a cold sweat. It’s amazing how much I worry now.”
- “Ellie… thank you. I get it. I really, truly get it now.”
Three months. It flew by in a blur of sea air and quiet contemplation for Eleanor, and a whirlwind of chaotic domesticity and unexpected epiphanies for Mark.
When Eleanor returned, the house was… surprisingly tidy. Not pristine, but lived-in, loved, and functional. There was a faint smell of burnt toast, a comforting reminder of continuity.
Mark was in the kitchen, making pancakes. Lily was setting the table, and Leo, instead of wailing, was humming a strange, dinosaur-themed tune. They looked up as she entered, and the silence that followed was different now – expectant, not tense.
Leo launched himself at her, a squealing missile of affection. Lily hugged her tightly, burying her face in Eleanor’s shoulder.
Then, she looked at Mark. His hair was a little less perfect, there were faint shadows under his eyes, but his gaze was clear, no longer evasive. He looked… older. Wiser. And undeniably tired.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. He didn’t offer a hug, a relief to Eleanor. This wasn’t about them getting back together. This was about something else entirely.
“Hey,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
Later, after the children were in bed, a nervous quiet settled between them. They sat in the living room, the familiar space feeling subtly changed.
“So,” Eleanor began, “Southeast Asia was good, I take it?”
Mark managed a small, self-deprecating smile. “Never made it past the airport. The kids were a pretty immersive spiritual journey on their own. Turns out, finding yourself is less about exotic locations and more about wiping snotty noses at 3 AM.”
Eleanor felt a genuine laugh bubble up. “I’m glad you discovered that.”
“I really am sorry, Ellie,” he said, his voice sincere, his gaze unwavering. “For everything. For not seeing it, for not doing enough, for even suggesting… that I needed time off. I didn’t know. I didn’t have a clue what you deal with every single day.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s relentless. The constant vigilance, the planning, the emotional labour… it’s exhausting, and it’s endless. And it’s so, so important.”
Eleanor looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time in years. The self-absorption was gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability she hadn’t thought him capable of.
“It is,” she agreed quietly. “It truly is.”
“I talked to my manager,” Mark continued, fidgeting slightly. “I’m rearranging my schedule. I want to be here more. Proper overnights, consistent weekends. I want to be a proper co-parent, not just an occasional visitor. And I want to find a good therapist, too. I’ve got a lot of patterns to break.”
Eleanor nodded, a profound sense of relief washing over her. It wasn’t a perfect resolution. The scars of their past wouldn’t simply vanish. But something fundamental had shifted. He had faced his responsibilities, not because she forced him, but because he had finally felt them, deeply and personally.
“That sounds… good, Mark,” she said, a small, genuine smile gracing her lips. “It sounds like a real start.”
The next morning, the aroma of perfectly toasted bread filled the kitchen. Lily was explaining a new Minecraft strategy to Leo, who was listening intently. Mark was making coffee, and when he handed Eleanor her mug, he held her gaze for a moment.
“I’ve started reading those lullaby books you left,” he said, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Got a favourite. Want to hear it?”
Eleanor laughed, a clear, unburdened sound. “Maybe later. For now, I think I’ll just enjoy my coffee. And the quiet.”
The chaos was still there, the beautiful, messy chaos of family life. But now, it felt different. Lighter. Because Eleanor knew, deep in her bones, that she wasn’t carrying the weight alone anymore. And Mark, finally, was ready to help carry his share. He had found himself, not in an ashram in Asia, but right there, in the burnt toast and dinosaur-shaped stories of his own home.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
