I told myself it was just two weeks, and soon they’d be out of my house and out of my life.

But on the day I was supposed to drop them off at the airport, everything boiled over. When I told them to buckle up, they flat-out refused, claiming it would wrinkle their t-shirts and that “Dad doesn’t care.” I pulled over, calm but firm, and said, “No belts, no ride.” They laughed it off and even called their dad, who immediately sided with me and told them to comply. Yet they still resisted, smug as ever. That’s when I shut off the engine and stood outside the car, arms crossed, refusing to move an inch.

Forty-five minutes of sulking and dramatic sighs later, Tyler finally caved. “Fine! We’ll wear the damn seatbelts!” he snapped. I drove them to the airport in silence