Husband Constantly Belittles Stay-At-Home Wife Until Ambulance Takes Her Away

It was a crisp October morning, and for Harry, it was one of the most important days of his career. After six months of long hours and relentless work, he was finally ready to present his gaming project—a project he believed would earn him a well-deserved promotion and a hefty paycheck.

Excitement buzzed in his chest as he made his way to the dining room, his mind entirely focused on his upcoming presentation. He barely noticed his wife, Sara, or their two young sons, Cody and Sonny, who were already seated at the breakfast table.

"Morning, honey," Sara greeted him warmly.

"Good morning, Daddy," the boys echoed, their small voices full of energy.

Harry, however, barely acknowledged them. He grabbed a piece of toast and rushed back to his room to get dressed, his mind racing through last-minute details for his big meeting.

Just as he was about to put on his usual white shirt, his voice rang out sharply from the bedroom. "Sara, where's my white shirt?"

From the dining room, Sara sighed and responded, "I just put it for a wash with all the whites."

Harry stormed back, irritation clear on his face. "What do you mean by you just put it for a wash? I asked you to wash it three days ago. You know that's my lucky shirt. And I needed it for today's meeting,"

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"Why can't you ever do anything right? Why do you always have to mess things up? Today's a big day for me. What am I gonna wear now?"

Sara frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She had done nothing wrong, yet here he was, lashing out over something so trivial.

"Stop yelling at me in the morning, Harry. I didn't have enough white clothes to wash. I just gathered all of them until I had a full load. And it's not the only white shirt you have. It's not a big deal or something. So stop barking, alright?"

"Oh really? I'm barking? You wanna do this now?"

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"Do what, Harry? You're making a scene for a stupid little thing. And nobody would be interested in what color shirt you're wearing when all eyes would be fixed on your goddamn presentation."

"A goddamn presentation? Come again...Did you just say that? Do you have any idea how I've been busting my butt off day and night for that project?"

"Watch your words. The kids...."

His anger didn't stop there. "And you know what? You sit at home all day doing nothing," he added, shaking his head. "Is it too hard to remember one simple thing? And that friend of yours in the apartment below...All you do is gossip with her as if you're gonna solve the whole world's problem. All you do is Blah Blah Blah and NOTHING at home."

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"Harry, stop this. The kids are watching. You're scaring them."

"Oh really? And nobody watches you when you're on the goddamn phone gossiping all the time with your friends. Whose husband did what...Whose wife has a fling with who...and basically sitting at home doing nothing around here? Nobody watches that, huh, Sara?"

"And you know what? I give up...I can't handle this crap anymore. You can never be a good wife if you can't do even a simple thing for me."

Without another word, Harry grabbed his briefcase and stormed out the door, ready to take on the day—completely unaware that his words had left a much deeper impact than he realized.

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As Harry stood in the conference room, confidently presenting his project, his phone vibrated inside his pocket. He ignored it, assuming it was nothing important—maybe Sara calling to apologize, just like she always did after an argument.

His boss, Mr. Adams, gave him an approving nod. "That was one helluva presentation, Harry. Good job, man," he said, shaking Harry’s hand. Relief and excitement flooded through him. The months of effort had paid off, and his long-awaited promotion was finally within reach.

On his way home, Harry checked his phone, expecting missed calls or messages from Sara. But for the first time in a long time, there were none. No texts. No voice notes filled with apologies or heart emojis.

"Strange! Still angry with me, huh, babe?" he muttered to himself, feeling slightly uneasy. But he quickly brushed off the thought. He pulled over at a roadside florist, picking up a bouquet of white roses—Sara’s favorite. He figured a small gesture would smooth things over, just like always.

With a confident stride, he entered their apartment, tossing his keys onto the table. "Honey, I'm home!" he called out.

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The only response was silence.

Frowning, Harry glanced around. The apartment felt strangely empty. There was no clatter of dishes from the kitchen, no soft hum of Sara singing under her breath. Something was off.

He placed the bouquet in a vase and checked the bedrooms, but Sara and the kids were nowhere to be found.

"Sara, honey...." he called again, this time a little louder. "Guys? Daddy's home...Cody? Sonny?"

Still nothing.

Growing impatient, he reached for his phone, ready to dial Sara, when something on the coffee table caught his attention. A single sheet of paper, held down by a red pen. His pulse quickened as he picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly.

"I want a divorce."

His stomach dropped. He read the note again. And then again, as if the words would somehow change.

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

He tried to call her. "Pick up...Sara...please...pick up," he whispered desperately, but there was no answer.

Panic rising, he scrolled through his contacts until he found Zara, Sara’s sister.

"Where did she go? Where are the kids?" he mumbled as he pressed the call button.

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"Hey...is Sara with you? I just came home, and she's not...." he asked as soon as she picked up, his voice tight with urgency.

"Sara's in the hospital right now, Harry."

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. "The hospital?? Wha-What happened to her?"

The line went dead before he could ask anything else.

He didn’t stop to think. Grabbing his keys, he ran out the door and flagged down the first taxi he could find.

"Keep the change," he muttered, shoving cash at the driver before sprinting into the hospital.

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"Where is she? Oh my God, Zara. What happened to Sara? Is she alright?" he demanded, his eyes darting around the waiting area until he spotted Zara.

"Really, Harry? You're asking if she's alright? She's here coz of you...You did this to my sister. You told her she was not 'wife' enough for you?"

"Look, we'll talk about this later, alright?" Harry insisted, his patience running thin.

Ignoring him, Zara crossed her arms and glared at him. "Really, Harry? You're asking if she's alright? She's here coz of you...You did this to my sister. You told her she was not 'wife' enough for you?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Look, we'll talk about this later, alright?" he muttered before storming off to find a doctor.

"Doctor, is my wife alright? Can I see her?" he asked the first medical professional he could find.

"It's a mild attack. Nothing to worry about...She's out of danger. But she needs to take care of her health now. Yeah, please, go ahead and only ten minutes coz she needs to rest."

Harry barely heard the rest. She was out of danger—but she had ended up in the hospital because of him.

His heart pounded as he walked toward Sara’s room, his mind racing with things to say, apologies to make.

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He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. "Hey, I know that I...What I did was...Look, I'm sorry, and let's just...."

But Sara didn’t let him finish.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You don't have to. Coz you know what? I don't want to hear it anymore."

Harry flinched. "Honey, please, let me explain."

She turned her head away. "I don't wanna hear anything. Not anymore. I'm done. Divorce is the only thing I want."

He took a step closer, desperation creeping into his voice. "Wha-What? Why...Sara, look, you got to be kidding...You're taking it too far, alright?"

Sara met his eyes, her expression unreadable. "Why? You're asking me why?" she said, her voice shaking slightly. "Coz I buried my life alive, Harry. I had ambitions, plans...and dreams. I was at the top of my class in college. Several interior design companies, so many of them, were impressed with my portfolio and offered to join them in New York."

Harry's heart clenched. "Honey, see, you're just complicating everything. Let's just go home and sort everything...."

Sara inhaled sharply. "Shut up. Just shut up," she said firmly. "Or just leave if you're not ready to listen."

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"I chose you over every opportunity, and it ruined my life. You have a successful career. You have respect in society and recognition as a game designer. But me? You've been only treating me like a tailpiece. Like a dog living in a cozy cage, doing the same stale chores day and night. And yet, you have the audacity to tell me that all I do is nothing?"

"Please, honey, I'm sorry, alright?" Harry pleaded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Look, everything I do is for you guys. I want us to be happy. I know I've made mistakes...Hell lot of mistakes. But please, I deserve a chance to make things right. We can work this together, okay?"

But she was done. "No, I can't do this anymore. I can't be fake to myself. To you. And to the kids. I'm 32, but I feel like a crone. I just hate you, Harry. You're so disgusting."

Harry swallowed hard. "What about the kids, Sara?"

"I'm in a tough spot to provide for them...So they're staying with you."

For the first time, the reality of his actions hit him like a freight train.

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Harry walked out of the hospital in a daze, barely able to process what had just happened. Divorce? Sara was serious. She wasn't just angry—she was done.

His hands tightened into fists as he got into his car. He didn’t drive straight home. Instead, he went to Zara’s house to pick up his kids.

"Daddy, when will mommy come home? Aunt Zara said Mommy's sick. What happened to Mommy?" Cody asked as Harry helped them buckle into the car.

Harry forced a smile. "Your mommy will be back very soon, sweeties."

"I hope so," he whispered to himself, though deep down, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Back home, the silence was unbearable. Every room reminded him of Sara—her scent still lingered, her coffee mug still sat by the sink. But she wasn’t there. And for the first time, he realized just how much she had done.

"Okay, so who wants pizza for dinner?" he said, forcing cheer into his voice as he opened the freezer.

Pizza and ice cream—it was all he could manage.

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The boys ate happily, oblivious to the weight pressing down on Harry’s chest. He watched them, trying to convince himself that Sara would come back once she calmed down. Maybe this was just temporary.

But deep down, a nagging voice told him otherwise.

"...And don't let the bed bugs bite!" he whispered as he tucked the kids into bed.

Later that night, he called his best friend, Alex.

"But the divorce part is still hitting hard, man. I mean...She's never said such a thing before," he admitted, pacing the living room.

"Women are so unpredictable, pal. She could've just cracked up. So chill." Alex chuckled. "Yeah, I was thinking the same. Talk to you later, man!"

But Harry couldn’t relax. As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, reality settled over him like a crushing weight.

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Morning came too soon.

"Daddy? Daddy, wake up. You have to drop us at school. We'll be late. Daddy?" Sonny’s small hands shook Harry awake.

Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Sonny, what are you doing in my...."

Then he saw the time.

"Holy—!" he gasped, jumping out of bed. "Give Daddy a minute. I'll just...run...go brush," he stumbled toward the bathroom.

Chaos followed.

"Okay, guys, get your shoes on while I get the breakfast ready," he called out, trying to sound like he had everything under control.

But he didn’t.

His first attempt at breakfast was a disaster. The toast burned. The pan sizzled. Smoke filled the kitchen.

"Oh, no, the toast," he muttered, coughing.

"Owww...Holy...Owww...Ouch!" he yelped, dropping the hot pan.

Then the smoke alarm went off.

"Daddy...Daddy, what's happening?" Cody and Sonny ran into the kitchen, eyes wide.

"It's just the smoke alarm. Don't worry. Stay right there." Harry reassured them as he fanned the smoke detector.

But then—

"Oh, no...not again," he groaned, realizing he had also burned the shirt he was supposed to wear to work.

Breakfast was officially a failure.

"Daddy, what about the French toast? We are hungry."

He sighed, looking at the clock.

"I'm sorry, boys. I was just trying to...Okay, listen, give Daddy five minutes, alright? I'll quickly get ready, and let's grab something nice to eat on the way to school, yeah?"

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As expected, the morning commute was a nightmare.

"Great! Now what? The meeting starts in ten minutes, and I'm still stuck in traffic. I've never been late for work," he grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

By the time he reached work, he was late. Really late.

"Excuse me, everybody. Sorry! Traffic, you know...." he mumbled, slipping into the conference room.

His boss, Mr. Adams, shot him a look.

"It won't happen again, Mr. Adams. I promise,"

Harry barely made it through the rest of the day. Everything felt off. He couldn’t focus. His usual confidence was gone.

And when he got home, there was no Sara waiting for him.

A week passed.

Still no Sara.

And then, one evening, as he stepped into the apartment with the kids, he noticed something was different.

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The apartment smelled like her perfume.

Harry’s heart pounded as he walked toward the kitchen. The cabinets were half-empty. The mugs were gone. The drawers weren’t as full as they used to be.

He rushed to the bedroom.

Her clothes—gone.

Her shoes—gone.

Even the framed family photos from the nightstand—gone.

"Did she leave me for real?" he whispered, sinking onto the bed.

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"Please, Sara...don't do this to me...Pick up...Pick up." he mumbled, reaching for his phone.

But Sara didn’t answer.

Then, from the hallway—

"Daddy, what happened to Mommy's pictures and her things?" Sonny’s voice carried through the apartment.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting back the frustration. He had no answers.

"Guys, there's choco chip ice cream in the fridge. Please...just gimme a minute. Daddy's got to make an important call, alright?" he said, hoping a bribe would buy him time to think.

But he couldn’t avoid reality forever.

The phone rang. It was Zara.

"....She told you, didn't she, Harry? You took my sister for granted. Oh, by the way, she's not here with me. I have a flight to catch,"

Harry’s blood ran cold.

"Is this some kind of a joke, Zara? Your sister came here. Took all her things. And left me? With the kids? Is she outta her mind?"

Silence.

Then the line went dead.

Harry sat there, gripping his phone, unable to believe what had just happened.

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It had been five months since Sara left, and Harry had thrown himself into work and parenting. He tried to keep everything together—juggling office deadlines, school drop-offs, late-night meals, and bedtime stories.

But deep down, he knew something was missing. The house was clean, the kids were fed, yet it never felt like home anymore.

Meanwhile, work was slipping through his fingers. The once-praised game developer was now struggling to meet deadlines. His boss, Mr. Adams, had noticed.

One afternoon, as Harry was about to leave early to pick up the kids, Adams stopped him.

"Harry, I was wondering if we could go to the pub...and grab a beer now," he said, a casual but firm invitation.

Harry hesitated. "Now, but Mr. Adams, I got to...."

"Harry, I'll be waiting for you in the lobby. Make it fast." Adams added, not taking no for an answer.

So Harry sat across from his boss in the dimly lit pub, feeling the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold.

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"So, Harry," Adams swirled his drink. "As you know, we have a corporate event next week. Will you be able to make it?"

Harry swallowed hard. He knew where this was going.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Adams. But my kids have an important theatrical performance at school on that day. I promised them I would be there."

"I understand...Family comes first!" Adams nodded.

Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable.

"I wanted to discuss your performance lately, Harry. We've noticed that you've been coming late for work...missing deadlines. And the quality of your work has significantly declined. We're a business, and we're here for a mutual cause: Money. You know what I mean?"

Harry forced a laugh, but his hands tightened around his glass. "You got to be kidding, Mr. Adams. So what have you guys planned? To let the best game developer go?"

But Adams didn’t laugh.

"I'm afraid, yes."

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Harry’s stomach dropped.

"Mr. Adams...No, you can't be serious."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've been getting a lot of pressure from the upper end. It's their decision, not mine. We appreciate everything you've done for us. But we don't have a choice. I'll give you excellent recommendations...I'm sure you'll find something else soon."

"Mr. Adams, please. Okay? Don't do this. Tell me it's one of your stupid jokes. I'll laugh my butt off till you tell me to stop. Please, don't do this. I need this job. And you know how important it is for me. I have two kids to feed. Please...."

Mr. Adams didn’t answer immediately. That silence was enough.

"Alright. Thank you. You just deprived a father of his chance to feed his children. Thank you so much," Harry muttered, his voice tight with anger as he pushed his chair back and stormed out of the pub.

Everything was crumbling. His marriage. His job. His life.

As he walked through the streets, his phone rang.

"Sara?" he answered breathlessly.

"Harry, can we meet for a quick chat at five? You know...at the café where we first...?"

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That evening, Sara sat in a small café, stirring her latte, glancing toward the door every few seconds. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say a hundred times, but nothing felt right.

When Harry walked in, she straightened her back, gripping the cup tightly.

"Hey!"

"Hey, it's been a while. How are you? How are the boys?"

"What do you think?" Harry said, forcing a smile. "What's the matter, Sara? Did you just remember us?"

Sara exhaled slowly. "I...I was undergoing therapy. In Chicago. At...At a friend's place. I'm alright now. Perfectly fine! I got a job here in Boston. I'm doing pretty well, and...."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear. And?"

"I came to talk about the kids."

"What about them?"

"I came for them, Harry. I...I want custody."

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Silence stretched between them.

Then Harry scoffed. "Custody?? How dare you? And you have the nerve to demand that after you left us like we didn't exist."

"Harry, stop. People are watching. Stop."

"You can't just disappear and then walk back into my life, demanding custody of my kids. You don't have the rights."

"Of course I do! I'm their mother."

"Oh really? And you abandoned your kids and just disappeared? Is this some kind of a freak show? And you know what? My children don't need you. They have me. They've gotten used to my ways and don't need you anymore."

Sara clenched her fists. "That's not true. They love me, and I know that. You're a liar, Harry. It's always about you. You're only bothered about yourself. I won't let you do the same thing to my kids. I'll see you in court very soon."

With that, she stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked out without looking back.

Harry sat there, gripping his coffee cup so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

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The day of the trial arrived.

Harry stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie, but all he could see was the exhaustion in his reflection. He had been up all night, dreading this moment.

But for the sake of his children, he had to fight.

As he made breakfast, his kids sat at the table, oblivious to the storm brewing.

"Daddy, can I have more pasta, please?" Sonny asked, spooning pasta into his mouth.

"Me too," Cody added.

Harry forced a smile. "Daddy loves you!" he whispered, hugging them tightly before they left for school.

Then he straightened his suit and walked out the door, heading to court.

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The courtroom was cold and impersonal. Sara sat across from him, looking calm and collected. Harry, on the other hand, felt like his entire world was on trial.

"Mr. Wills, can you please tell us about your attention to your family while you lived together with my client, Miss Sara?" Sara’s lawyer asked, turning toward Harry.

"Well, I did my best to provide for my family. I worked long hours. Overtime sometimes. I kept myself busy because I wanted to make sure they had everything they needed."

"That's what most responsible family guys do, right?! And what about your wife's ambitions? Did she want to build her own career?"

"Before we had our kids...Yes, she did want to work. But after that, she stayed home to look after the kids and the household."

"Well, looking after the kids...the family...cooking, cleaning. So basically, your wife has been your cook. Your children's nanny. Your wellwisher. And did you insult her, saying she did nothing at home?"

"I did. Yes, it was an outburst. I was late for office and...."

"Mr. Wills, were you fired from your job? Why were you fired exactly?"

"Objection, Your Honor. This is utterly irrelevant and immaterial to the case," Harry’s lawyer interrupted.

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"Objection overruled."

"Thank you, Your Honor!" Sara’s lawyer continued. "Mr. Wills, why were you fired from your job?"

Harry hesitated. He glanced at Sara before finally speaking.

"Because I couldn't balance my work and parental duties. I tried, but it was too much. But I didn't give up. I would never give up on my kids. I love them."

"Mr. Wills, how are you managing now? How do you intend to support your kids...without a job?"

"Be specific, Mr. Wills. What job and what's the salary?"

"It...It's a part-time freelance gig. I'm a video editor."

"Mr. Wills, I admire your confidence, despite your climbing down the career ladder! I'm sure you make nothing much like you used to in your previous job, right?" Sara’s lawyer remarked, arms crossed. "A freelance job. Low salary. And raising two kids in today's recession. Well...That's all, Your Honor."

Harry’s heart pounded. And then, it was Sara’s turn.

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"Ms. Sara, can you please tell us about your life with your husband...I mean, soon-to-be ex-husband?" Harry’s lawyer questioned Sara.

"Did he ever refuse to give you money or care for you in any way?"

"No...Not at all. He was always generous with our finances. We never had any issues with money."

"Did Mr. Wills ever raise his hands on you or the kids? Has he ever come home drunk and misbehaved at home?"

"No, he never laid a hand on us. My husband. Sorry. Mr. Wills has never come home drunk."

"Your husband has taken care of you. You even agreed on that. He's never laid his hands on you. Then why did you leave him and the kids?"

"I had a nervous breakdown. I was so depressed with the things going on in my house. My husband never had time for me. He was always busy. He would come home and sit with his laptop, barely asking me if I was sick...happy...or sad. I tried to cope. But I couldn't do it anymore and left. I didn't want my kids to struggle with me as I wasn't emotionally stable at that time. So I had no choice but to leave them with their father."

Harry felt something break inside him. It wasn’t just about losing his wife—it was about realizing how much he had taken her for granted.

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"Ms. Sara, where were you these six months? What were you doing, and how will you care for the kids?"

"I was in Chicago at a friend's place. I wanted to be away from everything and everyone for a while. Then I moved back to Boston...got a job as an interior designer."

"What's the guarantee you won't have another breakdown and won't abandon the kids again?" Sara’s lawyer challenged.

"Objection, Your Honor. This is baseless and...." Harry’s lawyer objected. "My client Ms. Sara has come for the children's custody. Why would she leave them again?"

"Order…Order."

"I won't do it ever again. My children are my world. I'll be there for them and never let anything like that happen again."

And then, the verdict was announced.

"....Mr. Wills, you'll have the right to visit your children and take them with you two days a week. You're required to pay $860 as support to your children every month. This case is now closed."

Harry sat there, motionless. It was over.

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Sunday morning was quiet.

Harry sat by the window, watching the street below. He had packed the boys’ things, folding their clothes carefully, preparing for them to move in with Sara.

"And here you go...the roller skates are in this box. And Sonny, no ice cream after bed, alright? And you there, little fella...No fighting with your brother, okay?"

The boys nodded, their small hands clutching their favorite toys.

"Daddy, are we not going to live as one happy family like we used to? With Mommy?"

Harry forced a smile, hugging them tight as he held back tears. Then, there was a knock at the door.

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"Hey!" Harry said, stepping aside for Sara.

"Come in."

"Mommy! Mommy!" The boys rushed to her, wrapping their arms around her.

"I...I'll just go get the things out of their bedroom," Harry whispered, stepping away to gather their bags.

"Mommy, we missed you so much."

"It's okay, sweetie. Mama will never leave you again. Never."

And then, just as Sara was about to leave, she hesitated.

"Honey, what's the matter? It's time to leave."

"You're just tearing us apart," Cody mumbled, running back to his father.

"We want Mommy and Daddy," Sonny added, eyes welling up.

Harry bent down and wrapped them in a tight embrace.

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"It's okay, little fellas...It's okay."

Sara looked at them, eyes glistening, before stepping forward and hugging them all.

Maybe things were broken. Maybe they would never be the same.

But at that moment, in that embrace, they were still a family.

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As Harry watched Sara and the boys drive away, the weight of everything truly settled in. He had lost his wife, his job, and the life he once knew.

But in that moment, something shifted. He had also gained perspective. For the first time in a long time, he saw things clearly—what he had taken for granted, what he had failed to appreciate.

The house was quiet now, almost unbearably so. He walked to the boys' room and sat on one of the neatly made beds, running his hand over the blanket. Their laughter would no longer echo in the halls every day. Their tiny footsteps wouldn’t rush toward him when he came home from work.

And Sara—she had found her strength again. The woman he had once loved, the woman he had belittled and taken for granted, had stood up for herself. And he couldn’t blame her.

Maybe he had learned too late. Maybe some things, once broken, could never be fixed.

But as he stared at the framed family photo on the nightstand, he whispered to himself, "I will do better."

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