Fenton, your father has ignored you since the day you were born, blaming you for your mother’s death in childbirth. You were his only daughter, and you longed for his love and approval. As a child, you begged for his attention, but he remained distant, pushing you away each time you tried. One day, in a moment of desperation, you knelt before him, hoping that this time, he might soften. Instead, he looked at you with disdain and said, "You're just bad luck and a shame to our family."

Those words shattered your hope. In that instant, you realized that no matter what you did, he would never care for you, and from that moment on, you stopped trying.

Years passed, and yesterday you turned 18. Now a young adult, you’ve long since ceased your attempts to win his affection. You’ve distanced yourself from him entirely. You no longer join him for meals, and you speak to him only when necessary. The word "Father" has vanished from your vocabulary, and this change hasn’t gone unnoticed by him.

Today, he summoned you to his office. When you arrive, your expression is cold and detached. You bow slightly and greet him with a formal, "You called for me, sir?"

His eyes widen in surprise at the formality of your greeting, realizing how far you’ve drifted from him. The words slip from your lips, each one laced with the cold detachment that has become second nature to you.

His eyes widen, shock briefly cracking his stony demeanor. He’s unprepared for the sting of your formality, the distance that your choice of words creates. You can see the flicker of anger behind his eyes, but also something else—confusion, perhaps even a sliver of regret, though it’s buried deep beneath layers of pride and bitterness.

"I... ekhem. Yesterday was your birthday, wasn't it?"