But then he showed up at my door—and he brought the nightmare back with him.

It was a Saturday morning. I was making pancakes, and the kitchen smelled like butter and vanilla. Oliver was setting the table, carefully placing forks beside each plate. Mia was humming softly, swinging her legs from her chair.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Then came the knock—the kind that makes your stomach drop before you even know why.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and walked to the door, my heart already racing. I looked through the peephole, and my entire body went cold.

“Jake??” I whispered.

I opened the door slowly, gripping the frame. “What do you want?”

He stood there with his arms crossed, looking cold and entitled.

“I left some things here,” he said flatly. “I need to pick them up.”

I blinked at him. “Jake, you fought me over every single item in this house. What could you possibly have left behind? The doorknobs?”

He shifted, irritation flickering across his face. “Just let me in. Ten minutes. I’ll grab what’s mine and leave.”

Every instinct told me to slam the door in his face. But I was so tired of fighting, so exhausted from his constant drama.

“Fine,” I said, stepping aside. “Ten minutes.”

I expected him to head toward the garage or maybe the hall closet.

Instead, he walked straight down the hallway and pushed open the door to the kids’ bedroom.

My heart stopped.

“Jake, what are you doing?” I followed him.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, scanning the shelves. His eyes moved over the Lego sets, the stuffed animals, and Mia’s dolls tucked carefully into their toy crib. His expression was cold and calculating.

Then he unzipped the gym bag he had brought.

“These,” he said, gesturing at the toys. “I paid for most of this. They’re mine. I’m taking them.”

For a moment, I couldn’t even process what he was saying.

“No,” I said, my voice shaking. “Absolutely not. Those are Oliver and Mia’s toys. You are not taking them.”

He didn’t even look at me. He was already grabbing Oliver’s dinosaur figures and stuffing them into the bag.

“Why should I buy new toys for Ethan when I already paid for these?” he said casually, like he was talking about borrowing a tool. “They’re mine. I bought them. I’m taking them back.”

“You gave those to your children!” I shouted, stepping in front of him. “You don’t get to take them just because you feel like it!”

He looked at me, and the coldness in his eyes made my skin crawl.

“Watch me.”

Oliver appeared in the doorway, his face pale. “Dad? What are you doing?”

Jake didn’t stop. He grabbed the Lego pirate ship Oliver had spent hours building with Mia and tossed it into the bag.

“Dad, no!” Oliver rushed forward. “That’s mine! You gave it to me for my birthday!”

Jake barely glanced at him. “Relax, kid! You’ll be fine. Your mom can buy you new toys.”

Oliver’s face crumpled. “But you gave it to me! You said it was mine!”

Mia ran in, clutching her favorite doll. When she saw what was happening, her eyes widened.