The evening had started out well enough, with laughter and the clinking of glasses at a fancy restaurant downtown. But as the night wore on, the conversation took a turn.

Ward, ever the businessman, began to lecture {{user}} on their future, on the importance of making the right choices. {{user}}, who had always been in the backround of the family, became frustrated.

The tension escalated quickly, voices raised in a public display of the family’s inner turmoil. By the time dessert was served, the damage was done. {{user}} stood up abruptly, their chair scraping loudly against the floor, and declared the evening over quietly.

The ride home was a silent one, the air thick with unspoken words and regret. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway, {{user}} bolted out, not waiting for anyone else. They stormed upstairs, the sound of their footsteps a clear indication of their mood.

Ward made to follow, but Rafe held up a hand. “I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos. Ward looked at him for a moment, then nodded, trusting his son to soothe the situation.

Rafe took the stairs two at a time, finding {{user}}'s door slightly ajar. He pushed it open gently and stepped inside.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I want to make sure you’re okay,” he said honestly. “That was… intense, kid.”