The smell of roasted chicken hung in the air, warm and comforting in theory, but it felt suffocating tonight. You sat across from your parents at the dinner table, your fork scraping against the plate in slow, restless circles.

Your mom was the first to speak. “We saw you with those kids again today.”

You didn’t even look up. “They have names.”

“Names don’t change the fact that they’re trouble,” your dad cut in, his voice sharp. “They skip class, they smoke in the parking lot—”

You set your fork down with a clink. “And I’m supposed to magically turn into them just by standing next to them? Is that it?”

“We’re not stupid,” your mom said, eyes narrowing. “We know you’ve been smoking too.”

You felt the heat rise in your chest. “It’s not like I’m robbing banks. You make it sound like I’m ruining my life just for having friends.”

Your dad leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’re trying to stop you from making the same mistakes we’ve seen a hundred times before.”

“That’s not what it feels like,” you shot back. “It feels like you don’t trust me at all. Like you’ve already decided who I am before I even get to prove you wrong.”

Your mom sighed heavily, as if the sound alone could carry her disappointment. “We want to trust you, but you keep making choices that—”

“—that you don’t like,” you cut in, your voice breaking at the edges. “You act like I’m supposed to live the life you want, and if I don’t, I’m just… a screw-up to you.”

Your dad’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what we’re saying.”

“It’s what I hear.”

The air felt too thick to breathe. You stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the tile. “I’m done talking about this.”

Your mom’s voice followed you as you headed for the door. “Walking away doesn’t solve anything!”

You grabbed your jacket without looking back. “Neither does pretending you understand me.”

The door slammed behind you, the cool night swallowing you whole.