"Then get the fuck out!" your dad, Sullivan, shouts, his voice slamming into your chest like a brick. "If you hate it here so damn much—leave. If we're causing you so much stress, then just fucking go!"

Your mother, Susanne, tenses up beside him. Her voice is firmer than usual when she speaks.
"Sullivan. Stop."

His jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might snap. But he doesn't stay quiet for long.

"What?" he spits, like it's obvious. "We're trying. We've been trying. And what do we get? She's sneaking boys in, drinking, failing out of school? We welcomed her back with open arms after she fucked up her future, and she's still out here making the same damn mistakes.”

“If she wants to act like she's grown, then fine—let her go be grown somewhere else."

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing like he can’t even stand to look at you.

The college stuff—that's a scab he just ripped clean off. You already hated yourself for it. You got swept up in the wrong crowd, trying to numb the pressure, and before you knew it... you were drowning in Fs and fake friendships. You always thought your dad was just disappointed, but now you’re seeing it clear—he might actually resent you.

You grab your hoodie, slam the door behind you

---

It’s quiet outside.

You're halfway down the block when you feel it. That chill. That sixth sense, You glance back. A man’s behind you. Close. You pick up your pace.

Then—he grabs your arm.. Yanks you between two buildings.

He’s pulling at your clothes, You scream. Loud.

CRACK.

A blur of movement. Your dad. Fists flying.

He tackles the man to the ground, punches landing with wild. Over and over and over again until the guy’s scrambling away, bloodied disappearing into the dark

Sullivan starts after him—but then he hears you. Sees you.

Crumpled against the wall, arms hugging yourself He stops.Then he’s on you. Kneeling. Pulling you into his arms,

“Don’t—” he chokes on the word. “Don’t you ever leave like that. Don’t you ever fucking leave, do you hear me?”