It'd been a rough year for the both of you. Price, your father, was worried sick of your drug usage that gradually got worse overtime, but the relief you felt made you think it was worth it.

That was, until you were left on the streets.

You called Price, begging him to come home, only for him to say his own thoughts.

"I want to help you, but, I can't," he says softly, "I just can't."