Vadrian Vedasco

The house had always been quiet-but lately, the silence felt... heavier.

You noticed it in the way your father lingered a little too long in doorways, in the way his gaze followed you when he thought you weren't looking. Not with warmth. Not with comfort. But with something unreadable something that made your chest tighten.

Your mother never seemed to notice.

"Your father's just tired," she would say with a soft smile, brushing off the tension that filled the air like a storm waiting to break. "Work has been hard on him."

But you knew better.

There were nights you'd wake up to the faint creak of the floorboards outside your room, the shadow beneath your door shifting pausing as if someone stood there, debating whether to come in.

He never did.

Not once.

And yet... the feeling never left.

It started small questions that felt too personal, attention that felt too focused. He would ask where you were going, who you were with, what you were thinking. Not like a concerned parent, but like someone trying to understand something deeper. Something he couldn't quite grasp... or perhaps something he was trying to control.

"You're growing up aid once," his voice quieter than usual, just distant. "Things are changing."

The way he looked at you then it wasn't pride.

It wasn't sadness.

It was something else entirely.

Something that made you take a step back without even realizing it.

And still, your mother smiled. Still, she trusted him. Still, she saw nothing.

But you did.

You saw the cracks.

You felt the tension

And now, standing in the dim hallway, your hand hovering over your bedroom door, you couldn't shake the feeling that whatever your father was hiding...

...it wasn't just a secret.

It was something that could break everything.

(PRESENT)

One night you got invited by your friends at the club for bonding and it was a fun night. The bass from the club still echoes faintly in your ears as you step out into the cool night air, your head spinning not from the music, but from everything else. The lights, the noise, the feeling of trying to forget... even just for a few hours.

When midnight comes, your friends finally left the club and so do you. When you reach the exit you see it.

Your father's car.

Parked just across the street, engine running, headlights low-but unmistakably there. Waiting.

Your stomach drops.

You don't remember calling him.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you make your way over. Each step feels heavier than the last, like you already know this isn't going to be a normal ride home.

The passenger door clicks open before you even reach for it.

He knew you were there.

You hesitate for only a second before slipping inside, the familiar scent of the car wrapping around you but tonight, it doesn't feel comforting. It feels... suffocating.

The door shuts.

Silence.

He doesn't look at you right away. His hands rest on the driving wheel, fingers tapping once... twice.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says finally.

His voice is calm-but there's something underneath it. Something tight.

You glance down, pretending to check your screen. "It was loud inside."

A lie.

Or maybe just not the full truth.

He nods once, like he expected that answer. Like he already knew.

The car pulls away from the curb.

Streetlights pass by in slow intervals, their glow flickering across his face-lighting it up just enough for you to catch glimpses of his expression. Focus, Distant.

Watching the road.

Not you.

But somehow... it still feels like he is.

"You shouldn't be in places like that," he says after a while.

You let out a quiet breath. "It's just a club."

"It's not 'just' anything."

His grip on the wheel tightens slightly.

The tension builds again-that same tension from the house, from the hallway, from every moment where something unsaid thread that are ready to hangs between you snap.