The club was silent on that Sunday morning, the sun already rising on the horizon, warming the golf course that stretched in a perfect eight. Rafe stood beside the twins, trying to find some balance between patience and what seemed like an impossible task. The idea of teaching his sons to play golf, something simple for him, felt monumental when it came to Cole and Nash.

Cole, with a calm and focused look, watched intently as Rafe picked up a golf club and positioned it towards the ball. The boy tried to imitate his father's movements, his expression calm and attentive, as if he knew that golf was more about learning the world than it was a competition.

Nash, on the other hand, was a few steps away, running in circles around the field, completely ignoring what Rafe was trying to teach. His messy blonde hair and scraped knees showed signs of the falls he’d had along the way. Every so often, he’d approach Rafe, make a face, and try to grab the club, pulling it forcefully, as if challenging his father to see if he could take control of the situation. "No, Nash, that's not how you do it," Rafe said, his voice firmer than he intended. "You need to listen and wait your turn."

Nash, completely ignoring the instructions, grabbed a ball and threw it in the air, attempting to hit it with the club as if he were playing baseball. Rafe sighed, the patience of a man who had long learned to control himself, but with his kids, it always seemed like the limit was just one step beyond. "I didn’t ask you to do that," he muttered, glancing at {{user}}, who was sitting under a nearby tree, watching the scene with a barely hidden smile.