A Rift Within the Family Heart

A Crack in the Heart of the Family

Valentine was finishing his dinner, scraping the last bits of mashed potato from his plate, when he glanced at his wife. Stacey, humming a cheerful tune, was washing up in their cosy flat in Manchester. Her good mood seemed infectious, but a growing unease tightened in Valentine’s chest.

“Finished?” Stacey turned with a smile. “Pass me your plate!”

Valentine handed it over with a heavy sigh.

“Stace,” he began quietly. “Maybe you shouldn’t go tomorrow, yeah?”

“What was that?” She paused, not quite catching it. “Hold on a sec.”

She rinsed the plate, turned off the tap, and sat across from him, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Go on, I’m listening,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

“I said, maybe don’t go tomorrow?” His voice wavered slightly. “You’ve got no reason to be at my mum’s.”

Stacey blinked, her eyebrows lifting.

“Val,” she said, keeping her tone even. “First, we already agreed. Second, your mum *invited* me—begged, even. It’s her big birthday, not just any old thing. And third, you know I haven’t been further than the playground or the shops in months. I’d like a bit of a break too, change of scenery!”

“And what did you expect?” Valentine’s voice sharpened with irritation. “When you agreed to have a kid, you knew it wasn’t a toy! They need constant attention. What kind of mum gets *tired* of her own child? I don’t get your fuss!”

“I’m not fussing,” Stacey countered, staying calm. “I just want to go to your mum’s party. Have a bit of fun, feel like a person again. I’m not off clubbing with mates—I’m going with my *husband* to a family do, invited by your *mum*!”

“Well, *I* say you’re not going!” he snapped. “You’re a mother!”

“And you’re a father,” Stacey shot back with a wry smile. “Brilliant, then we’ll ring your mum to wish her happy birthday, and you can drop off her gift later.”

“What?” Valentine frowned.

“You said kids need their parents. So tomorrow, we stay home and look after *our* son together. You *are* just as much his parent as me. Funny how you forgot that when it was *your* sister’s birthday or a lads’ night out.”

“I needed a break!” he huffed.

“And I don’t?” Stacey met his gaze squarely. “I’m with him day and night—more than you.”

“You’re his *mum*!” he repeated, like a mantra.

“And you’re his *dad*!” she fired back.

Valentine realised Stacey wouldn’t budge. Either they both went, or neither. *Stubborn*, he thought, trying a different angle.

“Fine,” he relented. “But who’s looking after Mikey? He’s only six months—you’re not dragging him to a restaurant?”

“My mum,” Stacey said. “She offered to watch him.”

“And you’re fine burdening her?” Valentine’s voice rose. “Parents should raise their own kids!”

“So, tomorrow we stay home and raise Mikey?” Her tone was steady.

“Alright, fine, we’ll go,” he grumbled. “But what’ll you even wear? No money for a new dress, no time to shop.”

“Not an issue,” Stacey laughed. “Haven’t you noticed I’ve lost weight? My old dresses fit again—barely worn, just a few work dos.”

The next day, Valentine was in a foul mood. He’d hoped his mum’s party would be a chance to unwind, maybe even dance with a pretty guest. Instead, Stacey had ruined it by insisting on coming.

Stacey, though, was radiant. Mikey had been angelic, playing quietly while she got ready. Her mum arrived early, so there was no rush. She skipped the taxi—the restaurant was near the bus stop, and Valentine was meeting her straight from work.

“Changed your mind yet?” he muttered over the phone.

Stacey just smiled, shaking her head.

At the restaurant, they wished his mum happy birthday, handed over flowers and a gift, and took their seats.

“Stacey, love, let me fix you a plate!” his mum beamed.

“She can’t have that,” Valentine cut in darkly. “She’s breastfeeding!”

“It’s just salad, not wine,” his mum frowned.

“I know what’s safe, thanks,” Stacey said gently.

Minutes later, when his dad offered her smoked salmon, Valentine interjected again:

“Fish is off-limits too! Think of the baby!”

“Val, I’ve got it handled,” Stacey said, though her patience was thinning.

Valentine scowled, watching her enjoy the evening. Her ease, her laughter—it grated on him.

“Have you no shame?” he hissed. “Our son’s with your mum, and you’re here having a laugh! What if he’s screaming for you?”

“He’s not,” Stacey said calmly. “I rang Mum—he ate and went down. Remember?”

Valentine stabbed his fork into his salad. *Impossible woman.*

“Val, dance with me?” Stacey nudged him. “Live music—when did we last dance?”

“Go by yourself,” he snapped. “Not in the mood.”

Just then, a man from a nearby table approached.

“May I have this dance?” he asked Valentine politely.

Valentine jerked a nod, jaw tight. As Stacey danced, he seethed. When she returned, he exploded:

“Got any decency left? I’m miserable, and instead of caring, you’re off dancing with some bloke! A married woman, a *mother*! Our son’s at home, and you’re here *enjoying* yourself!”

His voice carried. His mother pulled him aside, smiling stiffly at guests.

“What’s *wrong* with you?” she whispered. “Stacey’s my guest! She’s stuck at home—can’t even get her hair done! I invited her so she could *breathe*. Have you no heart?”

“Heart? She needs a break from *what*? Our *son*? Her job is being a mother, not prancing about!”

“You’re being a selfish git,” his mum snapped. “Don’t ruin my party—or her night.”

Her words only made him angrier. Betrayed, he whipped out his phone.

“We’re leaving. Called a cab.”

“Val, we just got here—”

“I’m going!” he near-shouted. “Stay and dance till dawn for all I care!” He stormed out without goodbye.

Stacey, tears welling, chased after him. In the cab, he ranted:

“Was it worth it? Ruined my mood, ruined Mum’s party! Gran’s babysitting after work, and you’re off having fun? Hope you’re proud!”

Stacey stared out the window, silent, tears streaking her cheeks.

A month later, she packed her things, took Mikey, and left. She couldn’t take Valentine’s behaviour anymore. Somewhere, she hoped he’d apologise, change. But deep down, she knew—people his age rarely do.

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A Rift Within the Family Heart
When the Heart Knows Best