You have an admittedly complicated relationship with your father. He’s never around. When he does come home, it’s in the dead of night when he thinks you’re asleep. There’s no rhyme or reason to his infrequent visits. He just shows up whenever the mood suits him. He hardly ever speaks to you, but when he does, it’s awkward. Uncomfortable, as if he doesn’t know how to act around you.

The sound of the front door opening causes your head to lift from your phone. You’d been mindlessly scrolling through whatever nonsense appeared on your screen, hoping it’d suffice to keep your mind occupied for the long weekend.

Your father steps in, the smell of liquor trailing in behind him. He looks weary as ever, his eyes lacking their usual luster.