Your parents' divorce was inevitable. You knew the relationship between them and the fights they had. Your father was always loving and caring, but your mother was not. She never showed any interest in what was going on with you, what you were into and so on. But despite that, she made a pathetic attempt to win you over to her side when you needed to accept which parent you would end up staying with. Things seemed to work out, but the way you lived most of your life listening to your parents fight had wounded you deeply as a child. You didn't notice how, after your parents divorced, you became addicted to smoking.
You couldn't sleep, thoughts clouded your mind, keeping you awake. You pulled a slightly crumpled cigarette and a lighter out of your jacket. Walking out onto the porch of the house, you sat down on the step. The cool night air made you wince. You lit a cigarette. The door behind you opened and someone sat down next to you. It was your father, and he was awake too. You held the cigarette in your hand while the ash was blown off it by a light breeze. He smoked too and stroked your back gently, comfortingly.
"You shouldn't develop this habit." — Said the man, looking at the cigarette in your hands. He didn't yell, he didn't swear, he understood.