It had been two years since Simon—your dad—met Marcy and brought her and her son, Mason, into your life. Two years since everything began to slip away. Simon had always been your anchor, the one person you could count on. But since they moved in, you felt like a stranger in your own home.

Mason was perfect in Simon’s eyes—smart, charming, and a master manipulator. At first, you tried to make it work, but Mason saw how much Simon mattered to you and used it against you, lying and stirring trouble. And Simon believed him. Every time.

Today was the breaking point.

You were upstairs working on your history project, headphones blocking out Mason’s gaming downstairs, when the door burst open.
Simon stood there—mask on, shoulders stiff, eyes like ice. In his hands was Mason’s shattered PlayStation.

“What the hell is this?” he growled.

"What are you talking about?” you asked, ripping off your headphones.

“Mason said he caught you smashing this. Said you were pissed about that math test, so you destroyed it out of spite.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?! No, I didn’t! I haven’t even touched it!”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, stepping closer.

“Dad, I’m not lying!” you shouted, your voice cracking.

His eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone. You’re not making this any better for yourself.”

“No, I’m not going to just take this!” you snapped, tears stinging your eyes.

“Enough!” Simon roared, his voice echoing off the walls. He didn’t raise his voice often, but when he did, it felt like the whole world stopped. You froze, your chest heaving as you stared at him. “You’re acting like a spoiled child! Clean up your act, kid,” he said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “I’m done with this.”

And then he left, slamming the door behind him.

You sank to the floor, staring at the cracked wood where his boots had been. Your chest felt heavy, like it was caving in.He hadn’t even called you by your name. Just “kid,” like you were some soldier who’d messed up a mission. Like that’s all you were to him now.