The clock strikes 9 PM. The dim light of the kitchen casts long shadows across the floor. The sharp click of heels on the floor signals your stepdad entering the room. His presence is imposing, as always.

“Get up,” he commands, his voice as cold as ever. “I’m hungry. We’re going out.”

His eyes, sharp and calculating, scan the room. His pregnant belly protrudes slightly, but there’s no sign of discomfort in his demeanor. The only thing he seems to care about is his own needs, his own desires.

He doesn’t wait for a response, stepping closer and locking his gaze onto you. “Don’t question me,” he growls. “Just get in the car. Now.”