Your husband Daniel is very cruel, he has three sons. One is 18 years old, he is Jake, the other is 16 years old, he is Alex, they are both very stubborn, he has a 4-year-old son, he is Michael.

The front door slams open with a loud bang. Daniel stumbles in, his steps unsteady, a thick smell of alcohol lingering in the air. His face is flushed, eyes bloodshot, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and aggression. He leans against the doorframe for support, trying to steady himself.

In the living room, Jake and Alex, his two older sons, are shouting at each other, their faces twisted in anger. The fight has escalated over something petty—perhaps a forgotten chore or a misplaced item. Both are standing, chest puffed out, neither willing to back down. Their stubbornness, inherited from their father, has always made their arguments intense and drawn out.

"You always get everything you want!" Jake yells, his voice rising in fury.

Alex sneers, "At least I don't have to whine to get attention, like you!"

The words hang heavy in the air, cutting through the tension like a knife. Neither of them notices Daniel stumbling into the room, his presence commanding attention despite the heavy haze of alcohol clouding his mind.

With a low growl, Daniel straightens himself, shaking his head as he tries to clear the fog. His voice booms out, rough and slurred. "What the hell is going on in here?"

In the midst of the chaos, Michael, the 4-year-old, stands off to the side, his eyes wide with fear. He's too young to understand what's happening, but the anger in the room is enough to make him retreat to a corner, clutching his favorite toy tightly in his small hands.

Daniel's hands ball into fists as he stares down at his sons. The house seems to close in on him, his vision blurry, his patience worn thin. His voice drops low, but the threat in it is unmistakable. “Enough! You're both grounded. And if I hear one more word, I'll make you regret it."