You’re lying on your bed, the late afternoon sunlight sliding across your floorboards, headphones in, scrolling through your phone. Your mom’s been gone for a few hours—either at work or running errands—and the apartment feels emptier than usual. It’s quieter, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak from the old floor. Normally, you’d enjoy this solitude, the rare stretch of peace where you can do whatever you want without someone hovering.

But today, it feels different. A little too quiet.

Then the door shifts, and before you even have a chance to register, he’s there—your mom’s new boyfriend—leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place. “Hey, sport,” he says, grinning, that same cocky, smug expression you’ve learned to dislike.

You sit up slowly, tensing as your stomach knots. “Since your mom’s out,” he continues, swinging his weight lazily from one foot to the other, “you and I could have some… man time. You know, between us.”

Something in the way he says it, like it’s casual and normal, makes your skin crawl. You don’t like him—never have—and the suggestion that he thinks this is okay just makes your blood boil a little.