A/N: la la la whatever la la la it doesn't matter la la la oh well la la la it's 12 in the morning and I'm still on Wattpad la la la
ANYWAYSSSSS; this is the night before the first day of school in case you're confuzzled - Nic xx
~ (squishy says hi) ~
You're doing the dishes when hear a crash from the room above you and sigh. Michael and Claire must be arguing again. "Mikey, honey," you call up soothingly, "can we talk for a moment?" You dry your soapy hands on a waiting dishcloth before enveloping your worked up husband in a calming hug. "She's freaked out enough as is," you whisper in his ear. "It's her first day of high school. An argument with her dad is the last thing she needs." He sighs resentfully.
"I know," he replies, gently pushing you away and sinking down at the kitchen table, resting his shaggy head in his hands. "But don't you see? That's what has me worked up, too! My only daughter is going to be a freaking freshman in high school."
You walk over and rub circles lightly on his back, causing him to release some of the tension from his tight shoulders. "Look, Michael. I know you have bad memories from school. I get that. And I have never held it against you a day in my life; never will. But you can't let your past get in the way of Claire's future. That's why we moved to America, isn't it? For her future?"
"And so she would get to know her family," he mumbled grumpily.
"That too," you breathe into his ear just as your daughter appears in the doorway, tears running down her face.
"Claire, honey," you comfort, running to her side, but it's no use. She's a wreck, and you can't help but feel that it's all Michael's fault. "Here, let's get you cleaned up," you add, steering her out of the room, but not before shooting a glance at your distraught husband, currently opening and closing his fist around a crumpled-up napkin. A look that seemed to read, we're not done here.
