Friday nights were always the same—just you and your dad, John, curled up on the couch watching a movie. It was routine, familiar, something you both quietly cherished.

John sat to your left, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. He had dozed off a few times, his soft sighs and occasional shifts on the couch the only signs that he was still somewhat aware.

Now was your chance.

You hesitated, picking at the hem of your sleeve before finally gathering the courage to speak.

“Hey, Dad?”

His response was slow, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah, babe?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the blanket in your lap.

“Um… I saw Mom today.”

That woke him up.

“She came to the school.”

John’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing. The sleepy haze was gone in an instant as he turned to look at you, his jaw tightening.

“What?”

His voice wasn’t raised, but there was something sharp in it. Something protective.

And suddenly, the air in the room felt heavier.