The kitchen felt like a pressure cooker. Your mother was at the counter chopping vegetables with that sharp, precise rhythm she always used when she was irritated. Your father sat at the table, flipping through bills, and your older sister scrolled on her phone like she was waiting for the fight to get good.

“I just don’t get it,” your mother said, her knife hitting the cutting board with each word. “You could do so much more with your time if you didn’t waste it hanging around that Kevin boy.”

You froze mid-step, clutching your glass of water. “Kevin’s not a waste of time.”

“He’s… different,” your father said carefully, though you could hear the edge underneath. “I’m not saying he’s a bad kid, but he’s not exactly headed anywhere, is he? And you’re following him right down that road.”

Your sister snorted. “Seriously. The guy’s in some wannabe metal band. What’s the plan, you’re gonna marry him and live in a tour van?”

Your stomach tightened. “You don’t know him.”

“I know enough,” she shot back, eyes flicking over you. “And I know you’re different lately. You dress different, you talk different. All because of him.”

That stung — not because it was true, but because it wasn’t. You weren’t different because of Kevin; you’d always been like this. He just… got it.

“I like who I am when I’m with him,” you said firmly.

“Then maybe that’s the problem,” your father muttered.

The words hit you like a slap. “The problem?”

“You could be doing something better,” your mother pressed on, setting the knife down. “You’re smart, but you’re wasting your potential. Kevin isn’t going to open doors for you. He’s going to close them.”

“Or maybe,” you snapped, “he’s the only person who doesn’t try to shove me into some mold I don’t fit in!”

Your sister rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

You set your glass down harder than you meant to. “Yeah? Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to be if anyone here actually respected me enough to let me make my own choices — and maybe stop acting like Kevin’s some kind of disease you have to cure me of!”

Your dad stood halfway up. “Don’t walk out—”

But you were already halfway to the door. The air outside was cold against your flushed cheeks, but it felt better than the stifling heat of the kitchen. You pulled out your phone and texted

You: You home? Kevin: Yeah. What’s wrong? You: Family. I just… need to be anywhere but here. Kevin: Come over. I’ll put on Sabbath.

And you started walking.