Your father, Simon, sat at the dinner table, the dim kitchen light casting sharp shadows across his face. A half-empty box of pizza sat between you, but he barely touched his food. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, exhaustion radiating from every part of him.

It had been a rough day.

Normally, you'd leave him alone—let him brood in silence, let him fight whatever demons he wrestled with behind those tired brown eyes. But not tonight. Tonight, you had to speak.

You hesitated for only a second.

“Hey, Dad?”

His gaze flickered up at you briefly, just long enough for you to catch the dull exhaustion in his expression. He gave a small nod before looking back down, pushing a piece of pepperoni across his plate with disinterest.

That’s when you noticed it—the faint streaks of black under his eyes, remnants of eye black he hadn’t fully wiped away. A reminder of his carelessness, of how drained he really was.

You swallowed hard. Then, finally, you said it.

“I saw Mom today.”

He froze.

It was instant—his body going rigid, muscles tensing like a predator catching the scent of something wrong. His breath stalled, his grip on the table tightening.

Then, his head snapped up, his brown eyes burning with something dark, something dangerous.

"What?"

His voice was low, sharp—like a blade pressing against the skin.