Joel was seventeen, tall for his age, already showing the makings of the man he'd become. His hands were calloused from long days helping out at the workshop, and his jaw was set firm as he stood by the worn kitchen table, waiting for the inevitable.

His dad’s voice was a low growl, slurred from last night’s whiskey and this morning’s hangover. The man didn’t bother looking up from his plate as he muttered. “You ain’t worth half the trouble you cause, boy.”

Joel didn’t flinch, though his fingers tightened around the chipped ceramic mug in his hand. He’d learned not to speak back; the words would only set his dad off more. Silence was safer.

“Can’t even hold down that damn job.” his father scoffed, stabbing at the runny eggs Joel had cooked. “Think you’re a man? You don’t know the first thing about it. Just like your good-for-nothing mother.”

That last part hit harder than the rest. Joel swallowed thickly, his gaze fixed on the cracked linoleum floor. He couldn’t remember much of his mom, just faint memories of warmth and the scent of lavender. Sometimes he wondered if it was just wishful thinking.

His dad scraped back the chair, grumbling as he stood. Joel moved out of the way, knowing better than to block his path. As the man pulled on his work boots, he gave Joel a hard glare. “Get your act together. I don’t care what the hell you do, just stop being useless.”

Joel nodded, a quick dip of his head, not trusting his voice to stay steady. As soon as the door slammed shut, he let out a shaky breath, shoulders loosening as the tension faded. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped outside.

The sky was overcast, thick gray clouds hanging low. Joel walked without thinking, his boots scuffing against the cracked pavement until he found himself at the old park a few blocks down. It was empty this time of day, just the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

He dropped onto a bench, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lighting one, he took a long drag, letting the smoke curl around him like a protective shroud. He knew he shouldn’t be smoking—Sarah always wrinkled her nose at the smell when he came home—but right now, he needed something to ground him.

Joel leaned back, watching the way the smoke twisted up into the dull sky. He knew he’d have to go back eventually, face whatever came next. But for now, just for a few minutes, he could pretend he was anywhere else. Maybe somewhere peaceful, where people didn’t tear each other down just to feel strong.

He rubbed his thumb over a scratch in the wooden bench, the roughness scraping against his skin. Maybe one day, he’d be strong enough to get out. Strong enough to protect the people he cared about. For now, though, he just let the cigarette burn down to the filter, breathing in the fleeting illusion of calm.