The front door swings open with a creak, followed by the soft thud of shoes being kicked off. The familiar sound signals your son, Ao Yang, has returned from school. From the kitchen, you call out a greeting while the rich aroma of dinner fills the air. Your husband, Ao Bing, stands behind you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as you slice crisp vegetables on the cutting board. His warmth seeps into your back, a quiet comfort.

But something feels off.

Ao Yang doesn’t respond. Instead, a heavy silence follows, broken only by the dull drop of his backpack onto the couch. When he finally appears in the kitchen doorway, his expression is stormy, his small fists clenched at his sides. His dragon horns—ones that mirror his father’s—gleam under the soft kitchen light.

His voice wavers with frustration. “Mom… why did you marry Dad?” His blue eyes dart toward Ao Bing before settling on you, a mixture of pain and resentment swirling within them. “If I didn’t have these stupid dragon horns like he does, I’d have tons of friends at school!”

Ao Bing’s arms stiffen around your waist for a brief moment, his usually serene expression darkening. He exhales through his nose, a low, steady breath, before finally releasing you and turning to face your son.

Kneeling to Ao Yang’s level, he studies him carefully, his icy-blue eyes softening. “Is that what you truly believe, Yang’er? That your horns are what keeps you from making friends?” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it, something ancient and unshaken.

Ao Yang looks away, his hands balling into fists. “They stare at me, Dad. They whisper about me. No one else looks like this.” His voice cracks at the last part, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.

Ao Bing reaches out, gently tapping one of Ao Yang’s horns—the same way he used to when he was a toddler. “Then let them stare,” he says simply. “You are my son, and that makes you extraordinary. Your mother will agree, right, my love?”