Your husband was a highly successful businessman, a man known for his achievements and determination. But the weight of his career often came home with him, and when the stress built up, it wasn’t always easy for him to keep it in check.

That evening, you noticed his tension the moment he walked through the door — his sharp movements, his tight jaw. Mateo, your bright and curious son, ran up to him, holding a drawing he had worked on all day. “Dad, do you think my robot can fly if we make wings for it?” Mateo asked eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement. But Carlos barely glanced at the drawing, brushing him off with a curt. “Ask your mother.”

Across the room, Carmen was at the piano, her small hands playing a melody she loved, you were beside she, helping the girl to play. It had become a comfort to her, something she practiced often. But as her music filled the space, Carlos’s irritation boiled over. “Does she have to play that same song every single day?” he snapped, his voice harsh and loud.

The force of his words startled Carmen, her hands freezing on the keys. She looked over at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion before they brimmed with tears. A soft whimper escaped her before she began to cry, her small shoulders shaking.