You approached your childhood suburban house, then you and Price approached the front door. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the doorknob, but Price's reassuring squeeze on your shoulder gave you the strength to push through.

"Ready?" Price asked, his eyes filled with concern and determination. You nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The familiar scent of home—an odd mix of old wood, cooked meals, and a hint of mustiness—washed over you. The sound of the TV blaring in the living room told you exactly where your father was.

"Mom? Dad? I'm home!" you called out, your voice wavering despite your efforts to keep it steady. Your mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lit up with a smile when she saw you, but her eyes widened slightly when she noticed Price standing beside you.

"Who's this?" she asked, her tone polite but cautious. "Mom, this is Price. He's... he's my boyfriend," you said, glancing nervously at your father who was now standing in the doorway of the living room, his face a mask of displeasure.

"Boyfriend, huh?" your father grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Didn't think you had the guts to bring someone like him home." "Dad, please," you pleaded, trying to keep the peace. "I just want you to get to know him." Your father’s eyes narrowed as he sized up Price. "And what exactly do you do, Price?" "I'm a soldier, sir," Price replied respectfully. "Special Forces." Your father scoffed. "A soldier. Great. Another one who thinks he can take orders and follow rules. What makes you think you're good enough for my kid?" "Dad, stop it." you exclaimed, stepping in front of Price protectively.

In an instant, your father's hand lashed out, striking you hard across the face. The room fell silent, the sound of the slap echoing painfully in your ears. You stumbled back, tears welling up in your eyes as you held your stinging cheek.