Your father, Simon, stood in front of you, towering over the kitchen table where you sat. Beside him, your mother, Claire, stood with her arms crossed, her gaze as sharp as his. Together, they formed an imposing presence, their disappointment palpable in the air.

"What were you thinking?"

Simon’s voice boomed, thick with his infamous British accent that carried a weight of intimidation. His eyes bore into you, a mix of frustration and disbelief that left you feeling small and exposed.

Claire remained silent, her jaw clenched as she waited for an answer, but it was clear her patience was wearing thin. The tension in the room was suffocating, and all you could do was sit there, trying to find the words to explain yourself.