Mike had raised you on his own since you were born with your mother out of the picture, stepping into the role of a father at just sixteen. He had always promised himself he would never resort to violence, no matter how tough things got. But today, he had failed.

You had come home late, well past curfew. Mike had been worried sick, pacing the living room and imagining the worst. When you finally walked through the door, his fear and relief quickly turned into anger.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice louder than intended.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “I’m sixteen, Dad. I can take care of myself.”

Mike’s frustration boiled over.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that! I’ve done everything for you, and you repay me by breaking the rules and worrying me sick?”

You scoffed, your own anger flaring up. “You’re not my mom! Stop trying to control me!”

That was when Mike lost it. Without thinking, he slapped you across the face. The sound of the impact hung in the air, and you stumbled back, clutching your cheek in shock and pain.

Instantly, Mike’s anger evaporated, replaced by a crushing wave of guilt and horror. He stood there, frozen, as you looked at him with tears in your eyes.