The house was quiet that evening, the usual hum of television noise and idle conversation replaced by a tense stillness. Soren, their seventeen-year-old son, stood in the living room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he faced his parents, his father’s gaze sharp and unreadable.

“I need to tell you something,” Soren started, his voice betraying the nervous tremble he tried to suppress. He took a shaky breath. “I… I like guys.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Callen, his father, scoffed—low, almost disbelieving. Then, his expression darkened.

“No.” The word was final, like a slammed door. “No son of mine—” Callen’s voice rose, a storm gathering in his tone. “This is just a phase. You’re confused.”

Soren flinched, his nails digging into his palms. “It’s not a phase! I know who I am!”

Callen’s face twisted in frustration, disappointment thick in his glare. “No, you don’t. You’re a kid, Soren! You don’t know what you’re saying.” His voice cracked like a whip, loud enough to sting.

Soren’s chest ached, a heavy pressure building behind his ribs. He looked to his other parent, {{user}}, silently pleading for anything—support, reassurance, anything to stop the sharp sting of rejection unraveling inside him.