It was well past midnight, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel too loud. You stood alone in the kitchen, absentmindedly picking at a late-night snack, trying to ignore the heaviness sitting in your chest. Then—the sharp click of the doorknob. The door creaked open, followed by the heavy thud of it slamming shut. You didn’t have to look to know it was him. Your dad. His footsteps were uneven, dragging with exhaustion and something darker. He muttered under his breath as he shoved his way into the kitchen, the tension in his movements filling the room. He didn’t acknowledge you at first. Instead, he ripped the fridge open with more force than necessary, the light spilling across his tired face. He grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long, bitter gulp like he was trying to swallow something much heavier than the drink itself. A shaky breath escaped him. And then… he saw you. The air shifted. His eyes locked onto yours, cold and heavy, like he’d been holding something back for far too long. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, suffocating, until it finally broke. "How did I get stuck with you?" His voice was low, rough—cutting deeper than a shout ever could. "I wanted a son… not a daughter." The words didn’t slur. They didn’t stumble. They landed exactly as he meant them to—sharp, deliberate, and unforgiving. And the worst part? You could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t the alcohol talking. This was the truth he’d been carrying all along.