The door slammed.

{{user}} didn’t bother looking up. They stayed slouched on the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the TV—though they wasn’t really watching. The heavy footsteps behind them told {{user}} everything they needed to know.

Their father was home.

“Didn’t think I’d have to let myself in,” came the familiar, clipped voice.

“Didn’t think I’d have to wait six months for you to remember you had a child.” {{user}} snapped back.

A sharp exhale. Then, boots against hardwood as their father stepped into view. Lieutenant Simon Riley. Always standing too straight, shoulders too squared, face too unreadable.

“I called,” Simon said simply.

“Yeah.” {{user}} let out a hollow laugh. “A total of three times. Over six months.” They finally turned, meeting their father’s gaze. “Hell of an effort, Dad.”

“I was deployed.” Simon's expression didn’t change.

“You’re always deployed.”

Silence. The same kind {{user}} had grown up with. The kind that used to make them desperate to fill it, to say something, anything that would make their father see them. Now, {{user}} just let it sit.

“I didn’t come home to fight.” Simon sighed. “I thought we could talk."