Michael sat on the ledge of the multi-story car park, the cold metal biting through his trousers as the wind whipped at his face. Below him, the city stretched out - glittering lights, distant car horns, the hum of life continuing without him. He exhaled, watching his breath fog in the freezing cold air.

"You know what, I quit," he softly whispered.

It wasn't a dramatic declaration. No anger, no tears.

Just a quiet surrender.

Michael was a middle-aged man with a wife, two children, and a life that looked perfect from the outside.

He owned multiple successful law firms across the state of California, he had a beautiful home, and a loving family.

But none of it filled the hollow space inside him - the one that had been carved out the day his grandfather tragically and unexpectedly passed away.

His grandfather had been his anchor. The man who taught him how to fish, how to change a tire, how to be present in a world that always demanded more.

When he passed, Michael had tried to fill the void with work, with success, with anything that could distract him. But nothing worked.

Except the bottle.

Alcohol didn't fix anything, but it numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable. A drink after work became two. Two became five. Five became a habit his wife frowned at, his children noticed, but no one spoke about. Not really. Because Michael was successful, with a beautiful family of his own, and a devoted wife.

Tonight had been like any other Saturday. He kissed his kids goodnight - Emily, eight years old, with her wild curls and gap-toothed grin, and Daniel, twelve, already trying so hard to be a man. He told them he loved them. He meant it.

Then he looked at Laura, his wife of fifteen years. She was folding laundry, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn't look up when he smiled at her. Maybe if she had, she would have seen the emptiness in his eyes.

"I'm going to the pub", he said.

She nodded absently. "Don't be too late."

However he had made a plan, he wasn't going to the pub for his usual drink.

Michael, with a plan in his head and no thought of speaking up, reaching out for help, or changing his mind, was not going to continue his usual and widely established late night walk to the pub.

Following his head, he began to walk in the opposite direction, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, the weight of his life pressing down on him like a physical thing.

Every step felt heavier than the last. He passed familiar streets - the bakery where he used to buy Emily cupcakes, the park where he'd pushed Daniel on the swings when he was small.

Memories. All of them are reminders of a man he no longer recognized.

The car park loomed ahead, a concrete giant against the night sky. He took the stairs, one flight after another, until the world below him grew smaller and smaller.

When he reached the top, he sat on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge. The wind howled around him, tugging at his coat like it was trying to pull him back.

He thought about his grandfather. The way he'd squeeze Michael's shoulder and say, "You're stronger than you think."

He wasn't sure that was true anymore.

He thought about his wife, Laura. The way she used to laugh before the distance grew between them. The way she still reached for him in her sleep, even now.

He thought about his kids. Emily's laughter and comedic side. Daniel's grit and determination to follow in his father's footsteps. The way they still looked up to him like he was their hero.

A sob clawed its way up his throat.

I can't do this.

At that moment, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out - Laura's name flashed on the screen with a picture of the four of them, smiling and in a group hug.

"Hey, just checking in. Kids are asking when you'll be back as they can't sleep."

His heart skipped a beat and he had to force a breath.

Below him, the city kept moving. Life kept moving.

And for the first time in years, Michael hesitated.

Maybe quitting wasn't the answer.

Maybe - just maybe - he could try again.

With shaking hands, he typed back: "Soon. Tell them I love them."

Then he stepped back from the ledge.

The walk home was the longest of his life. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like a beginning.

"You know what? I quit." He said with a big sigh of relief, "I am going to quit letting sadness, anger and despair take over my life. I will be the best father to my kids, and best husband to my wife!"

Whilst on his gruelling yet optimistic journey back home, he ran into a couple of his mates from the pub, gave them a smile and immediately felt relief.

"I did the right thing" he softly whispered to himself, as a way to reassure him that things will get better.

He reached his house, the lights were on, curtains drawn.

As he reached inside his pocket for his key, the door creaked open, Emily, Daniel, his beloved children, and Laura, his lifesaver of a wife, were waiting at the door with a big smile on their faces.

Michael gave his family a big hug and kissed each of them on their foreheads.

The warmth of his family's embrace melted the last of the ice around his heart. Emily clung to his leg, her wild curls tickling his palm as he ruffled her hair. Daniel stood a little taller, but his eyes - still so young - shone with unspoken relief. And Laura. Laura held his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away tears he hadn't realized had fallen.

"You're home," she whispered.

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even a question. Just a quiet acknowledgment, as if she had known, somehow, that tonight had been different. That he had been different.

Michael swallowed hard. "I am."

Inside, the house smelled of cinnamon and laundry detergent - ordinary, comforting. The TV played some animated movie the kids had been watching, abandoned halfway through. A single lamp cast a golden glow over the living room, where a blanket was still crumpled from where Laura must have been sitting before she came to the door.

For the first time in years, Michael saw it all - not as a spectator to his own life, but as someone who belonged in it.

He knelt down, pulling Emily and Daniel close. "I love you both so much," he said, voice thick. "More than anything."

Emily giggled. "We know, Daddy."

Daniel nodded, then hesitated before adding, "You okay?"

Michael's breath hitched. He looked at Laura over their heads, her eyes soft with understanding.

"Yeah," he said, and for the first time, it wasn't a lie. "I will be."

That night, after the kids were tucked in and after extra stories, extra hugs - Michael sat at the kitchen table with Laura, a cup of tea between them instead of a drink.

"I need help," he admitted, the words heavy but freeing.

Laura reached across the table, threading her fingers through his. "I know," she said. "And we'll get it. Together."

Outside, the wind still howled. But inside, for the first time in a long time, Michael felt warm.

He had quit. Not life - but the lie that he had to carry it all alone.

And that made all the difference.