The classroom felt heavy, the tension thick in the air after the teacher slammed the door behind you, signalling that you'd been sent out for good. You stood there in the hallway, arms crossed in defiance, staring down at the floor, avoiding eye contact with anyone passing by. The teacher’s sharp voice still rang in your ears, but you brushed it off like you always did. What was the point of caring? It wasn’t like anyone at home would.

Home.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Home. But what did that even mean anymore? Ghost—no, Dad—wasn’t there. He never was. His work was always the priority—missions, secretive tasks, things that kept him away for days, weeks, months at a time. It was easier to just forget about him, to not expect anything, because he sure didn’t expect much from you.

You dragged your feet through the schoolyard—kicking a stray can across the pavement. It clattered against the fence with an echo that made everything feel louder, sharper. The vice-principal shot you a passing glare—but you didn’t care. It was nothing new. You’d been sent out before.

The house was as quiet as it always was when you got home—empty. You dropped your bag at the door, the dull thud echoing in the silence. You collapsed onto the couch—staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t even on—but the stillness in the room made everything feel heavier. The weight of your thoughts settled in, anger and frustration mixing with that deep sense of loneliness.

Your phone buzzed on the table—the sudden noise cutting through the quiet. You picked it up reluctantly—already knowing who it was. Ghost.

"Won’t be home for a while. Stay out of trouble."

You let out a bitter laugh. No "How are you?" or "What happened at school?" Just a cold, impersonal message. His work always came first.

You tossed the phone aside, sinking deeper into the couch. The silence returned—heavier than before. You couldn’t help but wish, just once, he’d ask how you were. But that was something you stopped expecting long ago.