✩‧₊˚RAFES STRESSED
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WORD COUNT: 3,2k+
WARNINGS: Swearing, Fears of becoming like his father.
SUMMARY: Rafe’s stress boils over, it sparks a fight that forces him to face his father’s shadow. The next day, he makes it right with an apology, a hug, and a surprise trip to Disneyland.
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It was one of those chaotic summer afternoons where everything was a little too loud, a little too bright, and definitely a little too much. Sabrina had dragged the kids out back for pool time—Miles and Mason cannonballing like maniacs, Maya rolling her eyes but secretly loving it, and baby Mila kicking her chubby legs in her tiny swimsuit, squealing every time the water splashed her.
Sabrina was lounging nearby in her bikini, hair pulled back, pretending she was relaxed but really keeping track of four different sets of chaos all at once. She was already tired when the sliding door clicked open, and there he was—Rafe. Home early. Four p.m. instead of six.
He’d been gone since before sunrise, suit jacket tossed over his arm, the weight of the day written all over his face. Work was chewing him up lately, and the moment the noise of the backyard hit him, his jaw tightened. The stress, the endless meetings, the deals—it was all still clinging to him like a shadow.
The twins immediately swarmed him, dripping water everywhere, yelling “Dad!” like it was a competition. Maya shouted from the pool for him to watch her dive, Mila squealed and reached her little arms out from her floaty, and poor Rafe just stood there for a second, shoulders tense, lips pressed in a thin line.
Rafe lingered at the edge of the door, running a hand through his hair, his tie hanging loose. He didn’t even bother to put his bag down before Mason nearly tripped trying to wrap wet arms around him. Miles wasn’t far behind, tugging at his shirt, both of them talking over each other about who could swim faster.
“Boys—” he muttered, voice low and rough from the day, but they didn’t notice.
Maya’s voice carried across the pool: “Dad, watch this, I’ve been practicing!” She launched herself off the diving board, water exploding everywhere, and little Mila clapped her hands like it was the best show she’d ever seen.
Sabrina could see his jaw tighten, his nostrils flare—every little sign that he was hanging on by a thread. She stood up, brushing water droplets from her skin, and crossed over to him, her presence soft but steady.
“You’re home early,” she said gently, almost like an anchor. Her tone wasn’t surprised so much as careful, testing.
Rafe finally exhaled, shoulders sinking a fraction. “Couldn’t… stay another hour in that office.” His eyes flicked to the kids, then back to her, guilt threaded into his stress. “I just needed to be here.”
Mila squealed louder, splashing her floaty, and the twins kept tugging, begging him to jump in. Maya was already lining up another dive.
The tugging, the shouting, the splashing—it all stacked on top of the weight he’d been carrying since six that morning. Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and Sabrina’s squeeze on his hand wasn’t enough to keep the dam from bursting.
“Jesus Christ, would you all just shut up for one goddamn second?” His voice cut across the yard, sharp and loud enough to freeze everyone mid-motion.
The twins immediately let go of his shirt, wide-eyed, and even Maya sank back into the pool, water rippling out around her. Mila blinked from her floaty, confused by the sudden change in energy.
Rafe ran a hand down his face, pacing a few steps. “I’ve been up since six a.m. busting my ass so you kids can have all this—this house, that pool, every little damn thing—and the second I walk in the door, I can’t even breathe without one of you screaming in my ear.” His voice cracked with anger, not softness, eyes darting from Mason to Miles to Maya.
“Dad, we didn’t—” Miles started, but Rafe’s glare cut him off.
“No. Don’t. I don’t want excuses. You’re old enough to know when enough’s enough. You think I like coming home just to feel like I’m walking into another circus? You’re not little kids anymore, start acting like it.”
The silence afterward was heavy. The twins stared at the ground, shoulders hunched. Maya swallowed hard, brushing wet hair from her face, trying not to look stung. Even Mila had gone quiet, kicking her legs slowly in the floaty as if she could sense the shift.
Sabrina’s eyes flicked from the kids back to Rafe, her lips pressed tight. She didn’t jump in right away—she knew better than to try softening him down in the first five minutes.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath: “Fuckin’ insane… can’t even come home to peace…”
Rafe dropped his hand from his face and looked back at the pool, his eyes sharp. “You think it’s funny? You think it’s cute to be running around like a bunch of lunatics the second I walk in? Mason, Miles—you’re fifteen, not five. Stop acting like fucking idiots.”
The twins exchanged a glance, but neither dared to answer.
“And Maya,” Rafe’s voice cut through again, sharper than a whip, “screaming across the yard every two seconds for me to watch you dive? Jesus, give it a rest. Do you think I need more noise in my head after ten straight hours of bullshit meetings and phone calls?”
Maya’s lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but she just sank lower into the water, cheeks burning.
Rafe let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I bust my ass so you little fuckers can have every goddamn thing, and I can’t even walk through the door without getting ambushed. You don’t have a clue what pressure feels like, not one fucking clue.”
He pointed toward the twins, his voice raising another notch. “When I was your age, I didn’t have a pool, or a massive house, or a mom and dad paying for everything. And what do you two do? Run around like animals, dripping water everywhere, screaming in my face the second I walk through the door.”
Mason finally muttered, “We were just happy you came home early—”
“Happy?” Rafe snapped, cutting him off with a sharp bark of laughter. “You call this happy? You’re not listening, Mason. None of you are. Happy would be shutting the fuck up for once and giving me two goddamn minutes of peace when I get home.”
The backyard went dead silent again, the air thick. Mila whimpered in her floaty, sensing the tension, and Sabrina moved quickly to scoop her up, pressing the baby against her hip, her jaw tight as she watched Rafe pace like a caged animal.
“Swear to God,” Rafe muttered, dragging his hands down his face again, “one of these days I’m just gonna walk right back out that door and not come home. At least then I’d get a minute to breathe.”
The kids froze at that—hurt, confused, and quiet.
Sabrina’s head snapped up at his last words, heat flashing across her face. “Wow,” she said sharply, voice carrying across the backyard. “Real nice, Rafe. Threatening to walk out on your own kids? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised—you are your father’s son.”
That hit him square in the chest. Rafe froze, eyes narrowing instantly, anger twisting into something darker. “The fuck did you just say?”
But Sabrina didn’t back down. Her chin lifted, eyes blazing. “You heard me. You stand there talking about how hard you work, how much pressure you’re under—like we don’t all feel it. Like these kids don’t deserve their dad coming home and actually being glad to see them instead of tearing into them for existing.”
The baby fussed softly, but Sabrina’s grip was steady, protective. “You want quiet? You want peace? Fine.” Her voice cut sharp as she turned toward the twins and Maya. “Inside. Now.”
Mason and Miles didn’t argue, not this time. Shoulders hunched, eyes down, they shuffled past their dad without a word. Maya followed, still dripping from the pool, lips pressed tight to keep her own anger in check.
Sabrina’s glare never left Rafe as she walked toward the sliding glass door, Mila on her hip, her other hand gesturing for the older kids to move faster. “You don’t get to dump your stress on them. Not after the shit you’ve pulled, not after everything we’ve already survived.”
The door slid shut behind her with a heavy clunk, leaving Rafe standing alone on the deck, chest heaving, jaw tight, his wife’s words echoing in his head: You are your father’s son.
Later that night.
The house had settled into a heavy kind of quiet. The twins were upstairs, doors closed, Maya curled up with her headphones in, pretending she wasn’t upset. Dinner dishes sat in the sink, half-rinsed. The only sound came from Mila’s soft sucking as she nursed.
Rafe had locked himself away in their room hours ago. The curtains were half-drawn, his tie tossed over a chair, and he sat hunched on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like it owed him answers. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t moved. Just brooded.
When Sabrina finally pushed the door open, she didn’t look at him. She padded in wearing her beige pajamas, Mila warm and drowsy against her chest in her tiny pink onesie. Without a word, she sat down on the opposite side of the bed, leaning back against the headboard, focusing on the baby and only the baby.
The silence stretched. Rafe’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his eyes darting toward her then away. Finally, the tension snapped.
“So that’s it? You’re just gonna sit there acting like I don’t exist?” His voice was low, sharp, brittle with defensiveness.
Sabrina glanced at him, cold and tired. “What do you want me to say, Rafe? That it’s fine? That screaming at your kids and threatening to walk out on them is okay? Because it’s not. I’m not brushing this one under the rug.”
His jaw ticked, fingers flexing against his knee. “You don’t get it. I’m under so much fucking pressure right now, Sab—”
She cut him off immediately. “No. Don’t you dare use that as an excuse. We’re all under pressure. You think I’m not? Feeding them, showering them, keeping this whole house running while you sulk in here like some moody teenager?” Her voice cracked, not with weakness but with anger. “You don’t get to dump your shit on them because you can’t handle it.”
Mila squirmed softly in her arms, and Sabrina adjusted her, never taking her eyes off him. “They’re kids, Rafe. Our kids. And you scared the hell out of them today.”
He exhaled through his nose, rough, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did.” Her voice was firm, not loud but solid, unshakable. “And I meant it too. The second you start sounding like your dad, I will call you on it. I’m not raising this family in the same bullshit cycle you grew up in.”
Rafe’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at her words. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him again.” His voice was low but sharp enough to cut.
Sabrina didn’t flinch. “If the shoe fits, Rafe.”
That was enough to set him off. He pushed up from the edge of the bed, pacing across the room like a storm. “You think I want to be like him? You think I don’t spend every fucking day trying not to turn into Ward Cameron? Jesus, Sab, you’re supposed to have my back—not throw that shit in my face.”
“I do have your back,” she shot back, voice raising now. Mila stirred against her chest, but Sabrina only shifted her gently, her tone hardening. “But I’m not going to stand by and watch you tear down the kids the way he tore you down. That’s not happening in this house.”
Rafe turned, his face flushed, hands balled into fists at his sides. “You act like I’m the bad guy. Like I don’t kill myself out there every fucking day so you don’t have to worry about bills, so they can have every goddamn thing I never had. And one bad night—one fucking bad night—and suddenly I’m my father?”
Sabrina’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “One bad night? Rafe, you’ve been snapping at them for weeks. Tonight was just the worst of it. You want credit for paying bills? Great. You want a medal for working? Fine. But don’t act like that gives you the right to come home and unload on us.”
His chest rose and fell hard, nostrils flaring, eyes dark. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under—”
“And you don’t understand the damage you’re doing,” she cut in, her voice firm, final. “I’m not your punching bag. Neither are they.”
Rafe’s shoulders slumped as the fire drained out of him. He dragged a shaky hand down his face, pacing slowing until he stopped at the foot of the bed. His voice, when it came, was rough.
“Fuck…” He shook his head, staring at the floor. “You’re right. I—” His throat worked, words catching. “I shouldn’t have… I lost it. I shouldn’t have said any of that to them.”
Sabrina didn’t answer right away, just kept Mila steady against her, rubbing the baby’s back in slow circles. The silence pressed down on him, making the guilt burn hotter in his chest.
Finally, he forced himself to look at her. His eyes were glassy now, the anger burned out into something rawer. “I don’t wanna be him, Sab. I swear to God, I don’t.” His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped it away quickly, almost angrily, but it didn’t matter—Sabrina had seen.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Sabrina sighed, shifting Mila in her arms as she stood up from the bed. The baby, still nursing drowsily, didn’t stir when she stepped toward Rafe. His head was bowed, one hand braced on the dresser, jaw tight as if he was waiting for her to tear into him again.
Instead, she reached out and wrapped her free arm around him, pulling him into her while balancing Mila between them. Rafe stiffened at first, then sank into the hug, burying his face against her shoulder. His chest heaved, a shaky breath rattling out of him.
“I know you’re sorry,” Sabrina murmured, her voice low but steady, lips close to his ear. “But sorry isn’t enough if it keeps happening.” She rubbed small circles on his back with her hand, firm but not overly soft. “These kids love you. They worship you. You scare the shit out of them when you come home and treat them like that.”
Rafe’s grip tightened around her waist, his voice muffled. “I don’t wanna be that guy, Sab. I swear.”
“Then don’t,” she said simply, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Her expression was tired, but strong. “It’s that easy and that hard. You’ve got to choose not to be him every single day. Especially when you’re stressed.”
The next morning.
The house was still quiet when Sabrina padded into the living room, Mila warm and wriggly on her hip. Mason and Miles trailed behind, yawning, their hair sticking up in every direction, while Maya shuffled in clutching her blanket. No one had spoken much since last night—just tired goodnights and the sound of doors closing.
But there was Rafe, already awake, standing in the middle of the living room. He looked different—softer around the edges, eyes tired but clearer. He rubbed the back of his neck as they all filed in, his kids watching him carefully like they weren’t sure which version of their dad they’d find.
“Hey,” he started, voice low. “I… I need to say something.”
Mason and Miles exchanged a quick glance, Maya hugged her blanket tighter, and Sabrina stood steady with Mila, waiting.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to the floor before finding each of them in turn. “I fucked up yesterday. Bad. I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have said half the shit I did. You guys didn’t deserve that. And I’m… I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, but he kept going. “You’re kids. You’re supposed to be loud and excited when I come home. That’s what I should want. That’s what I do want. I let my shit get in the way.”
The twins shuffled uncomfortably, and Maya’s eyes flicked toward Sabrina, who gave her the smallest nod to encourage her to listen.
“And,” Rafe continued, clearing his throat, “I know words aren’t enough. So, uh… I booked something.” He reached onto the coffee table and picked up a slim folder, holding it out like it might explode. “Two weeks. Disneyland. All of us. You leave me alone with my own guilt long enough, I’ll do something crazy.”
The kids froze, blinking at him, processing. Then Miles’s jaw dropped. “Wait—Disneyland? Like… Disneyland Disney?”
“Yeah,” Rafe said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “The one with Mickey Mouse, fireworks, overpriced food— the whole deal.”
Mason’s eyes lit up, Maya let out a shocked laugh, and even Mila squealed on Sabrina’s hip as if she understood. The living room shifted instantly, tension breaking into a flood of excitement.
The kids were buzzing, questions tumbling out—when were they going, could they ride Space Mountain, did Disneyland really sell giant turkey legs? Rafe let them talk over each other for a minute, his expression softening in a way it hadn’t in weeks.
Then he lifted his hands, quieting them. “Alright, alright—hold up.” His eyes swept over all three of them, then down at Mila, her tiny fist tangled in Sabrina’s pajama top. His voice was softer now, but still steady. “So… do you forgive me?”
For a moment, no one answered. Then Maya stepped forward first, blanket slipping down her arm, and she wrapped her arms around his waist without a word. The twins followed immediately, bumping into each other in their rush, clutching onto him tight. Rafe bent down, pulling them in close, his arms locking around all three.
Sabrina walked closer, Mila perched on her hip, and leaned in too. Rafe pressed his forehead against Sabrina’s temple, his free hand brushing gently over Mila’s back. The baby squealed and smacked her little palm against his chest like she was part of it too.
The living room was quiet except for the sound of breathing and the muffled “love yous” whispered into the hug. For the first time in a long while, it felt like the house was steady again—messy, loud, imperfect, but steady.
