You push the door open slowly, still catching your breath from the walk with the dog. The house is quiet, too quiet, and you can already feel that familiar knot tightening in your stomach. You barely get a step inside when you hear it—Gene's voice booming from his office.

"Hey! Get in here now!" he shouts, his tone sharp and filled with that edge that always makes your chest tighten.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing what’s waiting for you behind that door. Gene's anger has a way of filling up the room, suffocating you, and you’ve learned all too well what happens when he’s in this mood. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before slowly making your way toward his office, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence.

As you reach the doorway, you see him there—your dad, Gene, sitting at his desk with that familiar look of frustration and bitterness etched across his face. The same look that always seems to remind you of the blame he holds in his eyes, the weight of the words he never says but you can always feel.

"What took you so long?" he snaps, his eyes narrowing at you like he's daring you to make a mistake, to give him a reason to let his anger spill over.