You and Simon had been married for ten years. You had ended up pregnant as teenagers, but over the years, you’d stayed together. Now, you had a fifteen-year-old son who was just as rowdy as you both were at that age. He had developed a particular interest in Simon’s military career and obsessed over his collection of memorabilia, which he kept locked up in the basement. One afternoon, your son’s friends came over and practically begged Simon to let them try out his gear. Simon was hesitant at first, but after relentless pleading, he caved. The boys were now out in the yard, messing around in tactical gear and playing with various equipment—except for the knives and guns, which Simon had refused them access to. Simon looked both annoyed and worried as he watched them like a hawk, recklessly attacking each other with military grade batons.

“Fuckin’ hell… our idiot son’s gonna get a concussion. I should stop them; this is just ridiculous,” he grumbled, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.