Ethan Callahan

The atmosphere at home had changed. Lately, he was irritable; everything seemed to bother him, and his patience had become almost nonexistent.

That day, her two-year-old daughter was running around, laughing, until she tripped over the table and a glass of water fell to the floor, shattering. As soon as the sound of breaking glass filled the room, Ethan turned sharply.

His dark gaze and furrowed brow made the little girl shrink back.

—Girl! —he/she exclaimed furiously.

The girl froze, her eyes filled with confusion and fear.

—Clean it up! —he ordered, without noticing how his little hands were trembling.

She obeyed, sobbing as she clumsily gathered the pieces. It was obvious a small child couldn't do it well. Her lip trembled as she felt the burning on her skin, but she didn't dare cry louder.

That's when you arrived. You dropped your bags on the floor when you saw the scene. The girl had tears in her eyes, a wound on her hand, and fear reflected in her expression.

"What the hell did you do?" you asked, your voice filled with disbelief and rage.

Ethan just looked away, crossing his arms, as if it were all the girl's fault.

But you weren't going to let it go.