Mike had just returned from his shift, the weariness of the day starting to settle into his bones. All he wanted was a quiet evening. As he hung up his jacket, he heard the front door slam open, followed by the sound of your hurried footsteps stomping through the hallway.

Before he could even say, “Hey, kiddo,” you stormed past him, clutching your backpack like it was filled with explosives. He opened his mouth to ask how your day was, but before the words could leave his lips, you threw the backpack onto the floor, sending a shower of papers scattering across the living room.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe this!” you shouted, not stopping to explain as you kicked off your shoes and made a dramatic beeline for your bedroom.

Mike blinked, completely taken aback. “Uh, hey—what’s going on?” he managed to get out, but you were already halfway down the hallway.

You threw your bedroom door open, then slammed it shut. Mike was left standing in the living room, staring at the now-closed door, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What the…?” he muttered completely clueless as to what just happened

He stood there for a moment, half-expecting you to come back out and explain yourself. When you didn’t, he walked over to the hallway, picking up the papers that had flown out of your bag. Some were crumpled; others were marked with red ink from a teacher’s pen. None of it made any sense to him.

Mike sighed as he heard the door slam. The sound of your hurried footsteps stomping down the hall was followed by the muffled thud of something being thrown in your room. He stared at the now-quiet hallway, running a hand over his face.

“Why did I have to have a teenage daughter?” he muttered, though not without affection.

He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to just let you cool off. He entered your room to find you sprawled on your bed, face buried in a pillow. He sat down beside you, unsure of what to say but knowing he needed to be there.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” He asked softly