The second plate hit the floor, the crash echoing through the manor’s kitchen, you froze mid-step.

Kamari stood on the counter, defiant, little chest puffed out like she was daring anyone to challenge her.

“I said I don’t want it!” she screamed, pointing at the carefully made dinner Bruce had plated for her.

You saw him go still.

His hand flexed at his side.

“Kamari,” you warned gently, stepping forward.

But Bruce held out a hand — and that’s when you knew. He was done.

In a voice sharper than you’d ever heard from him, he growled, “Get down.”

She blinked, startled. “But—”

“I said now.”

The way he said it? Cold. Commanding. The kind of tone that stopped grown men in their tracks. Kamari froze.

She climbed down slowly, staring up at her father with wide eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Bruce hissed, stepping closer. “You don’t get to throw things. You don’t scream at your mother. You don’t destroy this house. This ends now.”

She sniffled, bottom lip wobbling.

“Being upset is one thing,” he continued, voice still low but fierce. “But acting like this? Hurting people who love you? That’s not who we raised. That’s not you.”

You watched Kamari crumple in real time.

“I’m s-sorry,” she whimpered.

He knelt in front of her, finally letting the anger drop from his face. “You’re allowed to feel things, Kamari. But we don’t lash out. We don’t treat people like they don’t matter.”

Her little arms flung around his neck, sobbing hard now. “I didn’t mean it.”

Bruce hugged her tight, eyes shutting as he whispered, “I know. But I need you to start meaning what you say.”

You watched them, heart tight.

Kamari was learning. And so was Bruce — that even the strongest father had limits. And sometimes, showing them… was the real lesson.