It was late when you walked into the living room. Simon was sitting on the couch, a lit cigarette between his fingers and his phone thrown onto the couch beside him.

“Damn kid has no time again,” he grumbles quietly, his eyes landing on you standing in the doorway.

Simon knew it was his fault. He never had time for Henry, always at work or doing other things. Our son looked up to him and now that he’s all grown up it was painful to see how much he’s turned out like his dad.