Chapter 5: Cake Wars and Cheesy Promises

The second Tyler heard me, he tried to climb off the couch.

I watched him dangle one chunky leg off the edge, then reconsider when he noticed the glint of glass on the floor.

“You get down, you’ll cut your feet, and then you’re sitting out of soccer for a week. Your call.” I shot him a glare. “You’ll bleed all over the floor and won’t get any chicken nuggets for three days.”

He froze, his chubby foot halfway down, then quickly pulled it back. He glared at me, “Then come get me! Can’t you carry me?”

He must’ve thought I’d cave like before—spoiled to the core. He pouted, but I could see the gears turning. Chicken nuggets were serious currency in his world.

“Am I your dad?”

I ignored him. “You hit my son and expect me to carry you? Hah, go ask your own dad.”

I checked my watch, more out of habit than anything. The room was silent except for the hum of the fridge and Tyler’s annoyed sniffling.

Live chat shot up:

“Carter’s going too far, can’t he just carry little Tyler?”

“And he even tossed Tyler—child abuse! He deserves the hate.”

Some users posted angry emojis, while others argued back, like a virtual shouting match breaking out in the comment section.

“I think Carter tossed Tyler on the couch so he wouldn’t step on glass… And Tyler’s habit of smashing things when he’s mad, I just can’t [facepalm.jpg].”

A couple of parents chimed in with stories about their own wild kids. I could almost hear the collective sighs across the country.

“Honestly, I feel this so hard… He’s such a brat, just picturing my cousin’s kid makes my blood pressure spike [cringe.jpg].”

Someone even posted a meme of a stressed-out dad with the caption: "When you realize you’re the adult in the room."

“Why are people dissing a six-year-old? It’s normal for kids not to get it, can’t you be more tolerant?”

“People are actually defending Carter? How can someone so harsh to kids be a good person?”

It was turning into a comment war—Team Tyler vs. Team Carter—each side growing louder.

Right then, footsteps sounded at the front door.

I glanced up, expecting a pizza delivery or maybe Natalie herself, but it was neither. The tension spiked in the room, like the opening bars of a horror movie.

Live chat instantly boiled over.

“OMG! Jason is here!”

“Jason’s here to save Tyler! Yes! Heartthrob, please save the child!”

“Jason is so handsome [heart eyes emoji], he’s obviously way more charismatic than a certain scheming man, a real dreamboat ahhhh.”

I could practically hear the collective swoon. Jason’s fanbase worked fast.

“It must be Hollywood Queen Natalie who asked Jason to help with the kids. I heard Jason and Tyler are super close. Now we’ll finally see what real parenting looks like.”

People posted gifs of superhero entrances, and I had to laugh at the way the camera panned in slow motion.

Jason Miller walked in wearing a white Henley and jeans, tall and handsome, dragging a giant suitcase in one hand and carrying a cake in the other, smiling gently. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Target commercial—clean, polished, and just the right amount of approachable.

His hair was perfect, his teeth somehow whiter than the kitchen tiles. He even nodded at the camera with just the right amount of humility.