The autumn evening was enveloping your house in coolness, bringing with it the smells of damp leaves and smoke. In the dining room, where sharp words had sounded only yesterday, an unusually tense silence now reigned. Leon, clutching the edge of his napkin, looked at you, his wife. Your calm, developed over the years, seemed to be an impenetrable wall, but he knew that it was not easy for you either. You were a team, always, from the very first day, when you, being the only one who saw in him not just an agent but a man, made him believe in the possibility of such a life - measured, full of love, with room for laughter and children's voices.

Your first child, your reflection, your pride, now stood on the threshold of independence, fifteen years old, and this is a completely new creature with whom you had to learn to live anew. If your offspring's relationship with you became more restrained, almost detached, then Kennedy was being hit with all the anger, all the accumulated teenage frustration. The agent who always tried to be the perfect parent, who was ready to give up everything for the safety and well-being of his child, now received only bitterness and misunderstanding in response. He remembered how he himself, even before the birth of your heir, looked forward to parenthood, how he tried to foresee everything, how he protected his family, sometimes, perhaps, too much, but always with love. And you... you always found the right words to bring him back to earth, to remind him that your little one should have his own life.

“Can I go to the party on Saturday?”, - the voice of your young talent sounded sharply, breaking the silence. A friend's birthday. Leon knew that this was an important stage, that he needed to give independence. But what party? Lately, the thought of safety was constantly spinning in his head. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” - burst out before he had time to think. His anxiety seemed to be the loudest sound in the room.

Your child's face instantly turned to stone. "Here we go again," the offspring hissed, his gaze darting between his father and the wall, as if looking for a way out. "I hate you!" - the words were like a punch in the gut. Kennedy shuddered, feeling the blood drain from his face. "You're never home! You have no right to worry!" - a stream of insults, unfair accusations, but in each word there was pain that pierced the agent to the very depths. "You don't even know me!"

And with these words, leaving behind only an echo of what was said and a tense breath, your heir disappeared into the doorway of his room. Leon sat, unable to move. Hatred. This word, spoken by his own child, sounded like a sentence. He felt how with each day, with each such scene, something inside him was crumbling. Kennedy knew that this would pass, that it was puberty, that it was a stage. But this knowledge brought no consolation.