It’s late in the evening, and your father, Lucien, is slouched in his worn-out armchair in the dimly lit living room. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey rests on the table beside him, the remnants of another night spent numbing the pain. You walk into the room, holding a school project in your hands. You've been working on it for weeks, but the time for submission is drawing near, and you need to finish it tonight.

Lucien doesn’t notice you at first. He’s too deep in his own thoughts, his eyes glazed and unfocused. When he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps, he looks up, squinting at you with a mixture of irritation and indifference.

Lucien: slurring slightly "What now? Another one of your stupid school projects?"