Returning Home to a Hallway Slumber: The Startling Transformation of My Children’s Bedroom by My Husband During My Absence
After a week-long business trip, I walked into an unexpectedly chilling scene—my children sleeping soundly on the harsh, cold floor of our hallway. My heart raced as confusion and concern washed over me. Where was my husband? Mysterious sounds emanated from the kids’ room, drawing me closer to a discovery that ignited my fury.
Having been away for a week, I was eager to return home. My young boys, Tommy and Alex, ages 6 and 8, must have been eagerly awaiting my return, counting down the days. And Mark, their father, although a fantastic dad with a knack for fun, often played the role of the less responsible parent.
It was midnight when I pulled into the driveway. The house stood dark and silent, which seemed fitting for the late hour.
With my suitcase in hand, I quietly unlocked the front door, the keys softly clinking together. As I stepped inside, eager for the comfort of my bed, something felt amiss.
A soft obstacle underfoot halted me. My heart thumped wildly as I reached for the light switch. The sudden illumination nearly made me shout in shock.
There lay Tommy and Alex, curled up on the floor, wrapped in blankets like little lost pups. Dirt smeared their faces, and their hair was a wild mess. «What in the world?» I muttered under my breath. Could there have been an emergency? Why weren’t they tucked safely in their beds?
Tiptoeing past them, not wanting to disturb their slumber before understanding the full situation, I moved towards the living room. It looked like a battlefield strewn with remnants of a hasty feast—pizza boxes, soda cans, and traces of what seemed to be melted ice cream smeared on the table. Yet, there was no sign of Mark
My heart skipped wildly as I approached our bedroom. It was untouched, the bed made, as if no one had slept there today. Mark’s car was still in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be seen.
That’s when I caught it—a soft, muffled noise coming from the boys’ room. My mind raced with possibilities. Was Mark injured? Could an intruder have entered our home? I slowly pushed the door, letting it creak open, my nerves on edge.
My jaw dropped at the sight. «Seriously?» I muttered under my breath, mindful of the kids nearby. There was Mark, lost in his own world, headphones on, gaming controller in hand, amidst a sea of empty energy drink cans and crumpled snack bags. But the real shock was the room itself.
Transformed into a high-tech gaming haven, a giant TV dominated one wall, LED lights flashed all around, and a mini-fridge stood proudly in the corner.
I stood frozen, fury building inside me like a storm. Mark was oblivious, deeply engrossed in his game. I marched over and ripped the headphones from his head. «Mark! What on earth is this?»
He looked up, startled. «Oh, hi love. Didn’t expect you so soon.»
«Soon? It’s past midnight! And why are the boys sleeping on the hallway rug?»
He casually reached for his controller. «They’re fine. Thought it was a fun campout.»
I snatched the controller from his hands. «A campout? In our hallway? Mark, this isn’t camping!» «Relax,» he retorted, attempting to retrieve the controller. «It’s all good. I’ve been looking after them.»
«Looking after them? With a trail of pizza boxes and melted ice cream?» My anger escalated with every word. «What about their baths? Or sleeping in their beds?»
Mark rolled his eyes. «They’re okay, Sarah. Just chill a bit.»
That was the last straw. «Chill? CHILL? Our kids are on the floor while you turn their room into an arcade? What’s gotten into you?» «Nothing’s wrong,» he protested. «Just needed some alone time. Is that so bad?»
Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I said sternly, «We’ll discuss this later. Get the boys to their beds. Now.»
«I’m right in the middle of—»
«NOW, Mark!»
He muttered under his breath but complied, lifting Tommy, who barely stirred. As he carried him away, I couldn’t help noticing the resemblance between the sleeping child and the manchild I married. Cradling Alex, whose face was smudged with dirt, I tucked him in, my heart aching. It was clear, if Mark was going to act like another child, I’d have to treat him like one.
The following day, I initiated my strategy. While Mark was showering, I sneaked into his dedicated «man cave» and disconnected all the electronics. I then set about my next steps eagerly.
Upon his return downstairs, his hair damp, I greeted him cheerily. «Good morning, darling! Breakfast is ready!»
He eyed me with a hint of wariness. «Oh, thanks?»
I presented him with breakfast—a pancake shaped like Mickey Mouse, adorned with a fruity smile, and his coffee served amusingly in a sippy cup.
He prodded the pancake. «What’s this?»
«Your breakfast, of course! Eat up, we’ve got a packed day!»
Post-breakfast, I revealed my creation—a vibrant, elaborate chore chart affixed to the fridge. «Check this out!»
Mark stared in disbelief. «What on earth is this?»
«Watch the language,» I chided. «It’s your chore chart! Look, earn stars for cleaning, doing the dishes, and tidying your toys!»
«My toys? Sarah, this is—»
I interrupted him swiftly. «And remember, new rule: all screens off by 9 p.m., that includes your phone!»
His expression shifted from puzzled to irate. «You can’t be serious? I’m an adult, I don’t need—»
I interjected with a stern tone. «No backtalk, or it’s straight to the timeout corner for you!»
I maintained my resolve throughout the week. Each evening at 9, I turned off the Wi-Fi and unplugged his gaming console. I even tucked him in at night, a glass of milk at his bedside, and recited «Goodnight Moon» in a calming voice.
His meals were on children’s plates with compartments. Sandwiches cut into dinosaur shapes and animal crackers as treats. When he protested, I would remind him, «Use your words, love. Grown-ups don’t complain.»
The chore chart became a sore spot. Every task he completed was celebrated with an exaggerated cheer and a gold star. «Look at you, managing your laundry! Mommy is so proud!»
He would clench his teeth and grumble, «I’m not a kid, Sarah.»
I’d respond warmly, «Of course not, dear. Now, who’s up for baking cookies?»
However, about a week into my scheme, Mark finally reached his limit. After I sent him to the timeout corner for protesting the two-hour screen limit, he simmered angrily until he burst out, «This is absurd! I’m an adult, for heaven’s sake!»
I raised an eyebrow. «Really? Because adults don’t force their kids to sleep on the floor to game all night.»
He slumped, a sign of concession. «Fine, fine, I understand! I apologize!»
I observed him, noting his sincere regret but ready with one final point to make.
Okay, I forgive you,» I said with a sweet tone. «But just so you know, I’ve already phoned your mom.»
His complexion paled instantly. «You didn’t.»
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. When I opened it, there stood Mark’s mother, the epitome of disappointment.
«Mark!» she thundered as she strode inside. «Did you actually let my darlings sleep on the ground while you wasted time on your games?»
Mark seemed to wish he could disappear into thin air. «Mom, it’s not… That’s not what happened…»
She then turned to me, her expression softening. «Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry you were put through this. I thought he knew better.»
I touched her arm reassuringly. «Don’t worry, Linda. Some men just mature a bit slower.»
Mark’s face turned a deep shade of red. «Mom, come on. I’m 35!»
Linda paid him no mind, facing me again. «Don’t fret. I’ve cleared my plans for the week. I’ll make sure he shapes up quickly!»
As Linda headed to the kitchen, muttering about the mess there, I caught Mark’s resigned gaze.
«Sarah,» he murmured, his voice low. «I truly am sorry. It was selfish and careless of me. It won’t happen again.»
I softened slightly. «I understand, but I need to trust that you can handle things when I’m not here. The kids need a dad, not just another buddy.»
He nodded, full of remorse. «You’re right. I’ll improve, I promise.»
I smiled and pecked him on the cheek. «I believe you. Now, go help your mom with the dishes. If you do well, maybe we’ll have ice cream later.»
Mark headed to the kitchen, and I felt a twinge of triumph. Hopefully, he’d learned his lesson. If not, the timeout corner was still prepared.
