Father

He’s driving.
A harsh gaze.
His muscles have forgotten how to smile.
Still… it makes him smirk when that girl writes.
Damn — she’s got a sharp tongue.
It makes him smirk how brazenly she writes.
He sinks into thought.
He’s achieved everything — and more.
But his phone is silent.
His son doesn’t talk to him.
He can’t get close to his wife.
He remembers — back when he first met her,
he was gentle.
He was caring.
He was different.
He rubs the bridge of his nose, his forehead.
Damn… where did he take the wrong turn?
His son…
his eyes fill with tears.
He loves his son. He loves his wife.
He misses them.
But that filthy girl.
That fucking bitch.
His fists clench.
She ruined everything.
Yeah, he could be harsh —
but that’s exactly why Caleb grew up the way he did,
reached the heights he did.
The thought drags him back
into his own childhood.
A crooked little house.
Always short on money.
His mother crying nonstop.
He had to grow up early.
Started making money young.
By fourteen, he was already bringing it in.
His mother was proud.
And step by step,
he grew hard.
He had to be strong.
Not cry.
Be strong.
The older he got,
the more his mother leaned on him.
She asked his advice.
His word became final.
Whatever he said — that’s how it was.
Same in his own family.
No one dared argue with him.
But his boy…
his son…
Then suddenly, he changed.
He started looking different.
Talking differently.
And there was this freedom in him —
a kind of freedom his father had never known.
His fists tighten.
In rage, he hits the car with his fist.
That fucking bitch.
The nerve — to write like that.
If he got to her in person,
he’d destroy her without blinking.
So bold in her texts…
would she dare say any of it to his face?
No. She wouldn’t.
A slight chill runs down his spine.
He adjusts his tie, nervously.
Deep down,
he’s afraid of her power.
Truth is,
he understands why his son is so in love with her.
He asked around about her.
Didn’t take much effort.
Everyone already knows
who she is,
what she writes.
He rubs his forehead.
What is he supposed to do?
Going to war with a girl like that is pointless.
She has his son — and his wife — in her hands.
If she doesn’t like something,
she’ll change the game on the spot.
That damn bitch.
How he hates her.
How she infuriates him.
Where does she get the nerve
to stand against him?
He brushes it off.
She’s just playing brave.
Hiding behind texts.
In real life,
she wouldn’t even dare squeak in front of him.
He straightens up awkwardly,
starts getting slightly nervous.
Damn…
something about that girl makes him uneasy.
He opens her photo.
Yeah…
she’s beautiful.
Of course she is.
His son always did have good taste in women.
Something in him tightens.
His son never got married.
He never really had a normal relationship either.
The father rubs his forehead.
Is he to blame
for what he built into his son?
For making him his exact copy?
Maybe it should have been different.
Maybe…
“Sir, it’s time to get out of the car.”
They’ve arrived.