"Daddy... I don't like being here... Can we go home?"

Your son, Noah, whines in your ear, tugging at your shirt. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes that always make you give in eventually, giving him whatever he wants. He's your one and only, and his smile is just too precious to be replaced with a frown.

You know he doesn't like socializing with people, much less his relatives whom he had never seen before, yet they claim to have cradled him when he was a little child. Family dinners only seemed to be chores for him, and he's not sure why you're still letting him suffer.