A man ridicules his unemployed wife, only to come home one day to find her gone. In her search, he discovers a note revealing she intends to divorce him. Can he stop her from doing so and save their marriage? It was a bright, cold October morning, and Harry was excited about his gaming app presentation, a project he had poured himself into for the past six months.
As the clock struck eight, Harry entered the dining room, preoccupied with his phone, barely acknowledging his wife, Sara, and their sons, Cody and Sonny. “Morning, honey,” greeted Sara. “Good morning, Daddy,” the boys chimed in unison. Ignoring them, Harry grabbed a toast and rushed back to his room. “Sara, where’s my white shirt?” Harry’s voice boomed from the room. “It’s in the wash with the other whites,” Sara replied. Harry stormed into the dining room. “That’s my lucky shirt! I needed it for today!” “I didn’t have enough whites for a full load until now. You have other white shirts!!” “This is a big day for me, and you’re making excuses?”
Harry retorted. “You’re overreacting, Harry. Your presentation is what matters. It’s just a shirt. So stop barking, alright?” “Oh really? I’m barking? You wanna do this now?” “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….” “You sit at home all day doing nothing,” Harry blurted out. “Is it too hard to remember one simple thing? All you do is Blah Blah Blah and NOTHING at home.” “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. Nobody watches that, huh, Sara?
You can never be a good wife if you can’t do even a simple thing for me!” Harry dressed up in a random suit and stormed out of the house, grabbing his briefcase. After a successful presentation and bagging the promotion, Harry anticipated an apology call from Sara – something she always did after their fights. But this time, there were no calls. Thinking he would win her apology anyway, he returned home with white roses but found the apartment empty. A note from Sara on the table read, “I want a divorce.” Confused and worried, Harry called Sara’s sister, Zara, who informed him that Sara was in the hospital. Harry rushed to the hospital, only to face an angry Zara. “You told her she was not ‘wife’ enough for you?” “Look, we’ll talk about this later, alright?” Harry rushed to meet the doctor. “Doctor, is my wife alright? Can I see her?” “It was a mild attack. She’s out of danger. But she needs to take care of her health now. Go ahead and only ten minutes coz she needs to rest.” Harry shakily walked into the ward, trying to force a smile as he approached Sara. “Honey, I’m sorry. Please, let me explain. I—” “I don’t wanna hear anything. I’m done. Divorce is the only thing I want.” “Wha-What? Why…You’re taking it too far, alright?” “I had ambitions, plans…
I chose you over every opportunity, and it ruined my life,” she said. “It’s too late for your sorry, Harry.” “Honey, please. We can work this together,” he pleaded. “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.” “What about the kids, Sara?” “I’m in a tough spot to provide for them…So they’re staying with you.” Harry spoke no more and stormed out of the hospital to pick up his kids from Zara’s house. At home, he ordered pizza and ice cream for dinner. After tucking the kids into bed, he called his friend Alex, who suggested that Sara might have just cracked up and would be home soon. The next morning, Harry’s kids awoke him, and as soon as he looked at his watch, he knew he was late! In the morning chaos, Harry burnt the French toast and his shirt while juggling the kids’ school preparations. “Oh, no, the toast,” he exclaimed, rushing to salvage the breakfast. “Daddy…Daddy, what’s happening?” the kids asked amidst the chaos. “It’s just the smoke alarm. Don’t worry,” Harry reassured them, but things only got worse. He had an important meeting, and he was getting late. “I’ll quickly get ready, and let’s grab something nice to eat on the way to school, yeah?”
He dropped the kids off at school and arrived late at the meeting. “Sorry! Traffic, you know….” When he returned home in the evening, Harry found signs of Sara’s absence more evident. Her belongings were gone. “Did she leave me for real?” he wondered, overwhelmed. “Daddy, what happened to Mommy’s pictures and her things?” the boys asked. Harry, clueless, called Zara. “Is this some kind of a joke, Zara? Your sister came here. Took all her things. And left me? With the kids?” Zara coldly informed him, “She’d told you, hadn’t she, Harry? You took my sister for granted.” And then the line went blank. Five months went by without Sara. Harry struggled to balance work and parenting, and his work performance declined. One day, his boss, Mr. Adams, invited him for a beer. At the pub, Mr. Adams brought up Harry’s recent work issues. “Harry, we’ve noticed you’ve been missing deadlines and coming in late. And we’re a business…If you know what I mean,” Mr. Adams said. Harry, trying to lighten the mood, joked, “So, you plan to let your best game developer go?” Mr. Adams was also Harry’s friend, and Harry could’ve never prepared himself for what happened next. “I’m afraid, yes,” Mr. Adams replied seriously. “It’s out of my hands. I’ll give you good recommendations.” “What? Please, don’t do this! I need this job for my kids.” Mr. Adams remained silent, leading Harry to storm out in frustration. As he walked away, his phone rang. It was Sara. “Sara?” Harry said, surprised. “Harry, can we meet for a quick chat at five? At the café where we first…?”
Sara asked. At a café, Sara met with Harry to discuss their children. She revealed she had been in therapy and now wanted custody. “Custody?? How dare you? After you left us?” Harry fumed. “Harry, I’m their mother. I have rights,” Sara insisted. “You abandoned them, and now you want to take them away? They’re used to me now,” Harry argued. Sara was determined. “I deserve to have them back. I’ll see you in court.” Days later, Harry, now adept at managing household chores and balancing a new freelance gig, prepared breakfast for his sons. “Daddy loves you,” he kissed them goodbye and dropped them at school before heading to the custody 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 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,” Harry said. “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 rose. “Objection overruled.” “Thank you, Your Honor!” added Sara’s lawyer. “Mr. Wills, why were you fired from your job?” After a momentous pause, Harry looked into Sara’s teary eyes and opened up. “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?” “I have a job. I can support them well.” “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?” the lawyer added ironically. “A freelance job. Low salary. And raising two kids in today’s recession. Well…That’s all, Your Honor.”