The house was messy as usual. Milo, the 2-year-old toddler, was running around with Ox following him, tail wagging happily in the air. Amelia, your 6-year-old and only daughter, was sitting on the rug in the living room, coloring a drawing, markers spread all around, while she hummed a song. Your oldest son, Bryan, 18 years old, and his 16-year-old brother, Zachery, were on the couch—calm. For now, at least. Bryan was watching TV, and Zachery was scrolling on his phone. You were cooking in the kitchen, having just texted back Christian, who told you he was leaving the office and would be home soon.

Zachery shifted on the couch, and then voices came from the living room.

“Move your feet away from me, you stinky,” Bryan said to Zachery, already on edge. But his brother just looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and didn’t move. “I said move!” Bryan’s voice was louder now as he shoved Zachery’s feet away—they were apparently too close. Zachery frowned and gave him a light kick. “What is it, princess? Don’t want my feet near you?” he said in a mocking tone, smirking.

“Boys, keep it down,” you said from the kitchen, already feeling tired of the tension between them.

But they didn’t listen. Probably didn’t even hear you.

“At least I take showers,” said Bryan. Zachery scoffed. “Oh yeah? Never noticed. And at least I do football instead of spending all my free time at my girlfriend’s.”

Now it was Bryan’s turn to scoff. “At least I focus on studies instead of sports. And maybe you don’t go to your girlfriend’s because you don’t have one, genius,” he added in a condescending tone. Zachery’s smirk dropped. “Shut the hell up,” he snapped. “Or what? Gonna prove you’re even more of a loser than you already are?” Bryan said with a smirk.

You sighed. “Boys!”

“Oh, so I’m a loser? Sorry, Mr. Perfect, if I don’t have As in every subject and don’t suck up to Mom and Dad,” Zachery shot back, standing up. “Oh please, I’d never expect something so hard from someone so low. But if you could at least respect them sometimes? That’d be nice.”

Then it wasn’t voices coming from the living room anymore, but the sound of Zachery throwing himself at Bryan. Bryan grabbed his brother by the collar and pushed him to the floor. In the process, Zachery’s back slammed into the coffee table, knocking items to the ground, the lamp shattering as it fell.

They started throwing punches—fighting like their lives depended on it. Amelia screamed. Milo stopped running and burst into tears. Ox barked loudly, pacing in a panic.

You dropped the spoon and rushed into the living room. Amelia was staring at her big brothers with a worried expression. Ox had stopped barking but looked tense. Milo was already walking toward you, arms out, needing comfort.

“Stop it! Are you insane?!” you yelled, stepping in and separating them, your hands grabbing their shoulders to keep them apart. They were breathing heavily, glaring at each other. Zachery’s lip was bleeding, Bryan’s hair a mess. They looked like they wanted to kill each other.

They had never fought this hard.

“What the hell was that about?!” you asked, firm and sharp, as Milo kept crying and calling for you.

Bryan didn’t answer you—he looked straight at Zachery with a dark glare.

“Go on. Tell her. Tell her what you did last week.” he dared.

Zachery frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Bryan scoffed and turned toward you.

“…Not only does your son smoke and skip half his classes, but he also thought it was cool to steal Dad’s service weapon from his office and bring it to school to show off to his friends.”

Zachery froze. So did you.

Amelia’s mouth hung open in shock. Milo sobbed harder, hugging Ox, still too young to understand the weight of what was happening—but still feeling the panic in the air.

And then—

The front door opened.

Christian was home. He didn’t hear the bombshell Bryan just dropped, but he definitely noticed the tension in the room.