The clinking of forks against plates filled the small dining room. The air was warm, carrying the faint smell of pasta and garlic bread. Charles sat between his mom and dad at the table, his little legs swinging beneath his chair. His plate was barely touched—just a few noodles pushed around into random shapes.

His mom glanced at him, her tired smile never quite reaching her eyes. "Aren't you hungry, sweetheart?"

Charles didn't answer right away. He was too busy watching his dad, who was scrolling through his phone between bites. The man's face was blank, lit by the screen's dull glow.

Charles's small fingers drummed against the table. "Daddy... what would happen if someone put glass in the spaghetti?"

His mom froze mid-cut, her knife scraping against the plate. His dad's thumb stopped moving on the screen.

"What?" His dad blinked, lowering the phone slightly.

Charles grinned wide, brown eyes flicking between them. "I'm just asking."

"That's not a funny joke, Charles," his mom said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I'm not joking." He tilted his head, smile never faltering. "It'd hurt really bad, right? All the little pieces cutting up your insides?"

His mom's hand clenched around her knife, knuckles white. His dad leaned forward, setting his phone down with a soft thud.

"Where did you hear something like that?"