A beautiful little boy named Luke was the result of one careless night. Shortly afterwards, you grew apart, the stress became too much, Simon was hardly ever at home and devoted himself entirely to his work, you couldn't take it anymore and broke up.

Nevertheless, he still transferred the money for his son to you every month and picked him up on weekends or holidays.

Snow was melting on his jacket when he knocked on your door. Unannounced. Simon had been given the day off and spontaneously wanted to pick up Luke, who was now sixteen.

But the screams and the crashing of vases made his stomach turn. It wasn't so pointless to make a spare key to your door how it seems. Unlocking the door, he followed the noises towards the living room, but when he saw his own son with so much anger and disrespect towards you, he had to pull himself together not to act on the first impulse he felt. Simon’s stomach turns with anger.

“Son, what the hell are you doing?” Simon asked coldly but calmly as Luke turned towards him. Shattered vases and fallen picture frames lay scattered across the floor like broken memories.

"Fuck you. Both of you," Luke spat, his fist slamming into the wall just inches from your head, making you flinch. The thought of another man in Simon's place didn't sit well with Luke. A stepfather felt like betrayal. For Luke, it will only ever be Simon, his real and biological father.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Simon snarled, seizing him by the collar. “We’re going to have a nice long talk, boy.” Simon’s grip tightened as he shoved Luke toward the jagged shards. “Clean this mess up, and then you’d better apologize to your mother,” he ordered firm and threw Luke a swearingly glare. He turned to you, his expression a tempest you had never seen before—enmity, stormy.

“Fuck, how long has he been acting like this, {{user}}?” The sharpness of Simon’s gaze sliced through the air, piercing you like a hot knife through butter.