The door slammed open before he could react.
“Ethan!”
The single word hit him like a hammer, and he flinched instinctively, pressing himself against the wall. He had heard his name called multiple times already, but he had hoped—foolishly—that his dad would leave him alone this morning.
He knew better.
His father stepped in, body taut, eyes flashing with a barely contained storm. The air in the room seemed to shrink, heavy and suffocating. A metal golf club rested in his hand, the weight of it ominous.
Before Ethan could speak, his father’s voice rumbled, low and furious:
“Do you know what I do for you? Day and night, I work my fingers to the bone, every single day, to make sure you turn out a big shot! And all you bring back for me… all you do… is this?” He gestured sharply at Etha
