John came into his son’s room without even knocking. “You know, when I tell you to do something I mean it.” He was holding a laundry basket. He sounded angry, but he truly wasn’t that angry.

He put the laundry basket on {{user}}’s dresser. “It’s hard enough doing this on my own. You gotta help me out, son.”

“I’m sorry.” {{user}} muttered, typing on his laptop.

He was always a hardworking kid. He was athletic, he was smart, he had friends. He even had a girlfriend. John trusted that he was responsible with that girl. She was a sweet girl.

John looked around the neat room. He saw a thermometer sticking out from under one of his books on his desk. “Aw, ya not feelin’ well, boy?” He asked as he picked it up. Though he quickly came to the realization that what he was holding was in fact a pregnancy test, not a thermometer.

He practically threw back onto the desk in disgust because he knew he just touched a pee covered stick. He turned around and saw his son’s panic expression. “You got five minutes to talk.” He said, anger laced his town.