Ben stood in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed, that permanent scowl on his face stuck somewhere between frustration and disappointment. His son—his soft-spoken, wide-eyed little boy—was curled up against his mother’s chest. She held him like he was made of glass, stroked his hair, whispered sweet things in his ear. And the kid… he sighed, like that was all he needed to feel safe.

Ben clenched his jaw.

“This is how we raise men now?” he thought bitterly. It wasn’t hate, not exactly. It was something more tangled—frustration, wounded pride, maybe fear. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

He’d grown up in a different world. One where crying was for girls and the weak. Where his old man had looked at him with disgust for even wanting affection. He’d spent his whole damn life becoming what he thought a man should be—tough, cold, untouchable.

And now… his son. This boy who trembled at thunder, who ran to his mom when the world got too loud. Ben watched him and couldn’t help but wonder if they were ruining him. If all that love, all that softness, was making him weak—unfit for the world.

But then she looked at him. His wife. You. And in your eyes, there was no judgment, no shame. Just that maddening tenderness that cut through everything.

Ben sighed, defeated in a way he’d never admit. Maybe the problem wasn’t the kid. Maybe it was him.

Still, it was hard. Change hurt. And he’d never been made for soft.