“Andy, it’s not what you think,” Tito said, his voice tight, quivering with a frustration he was barely containing. “You know I only want what’s best for you. I’m your father. It’s natural for me to guide you the way I see fit.”
Andy released a dry, broken laugh—the kind that sounded like it came from years of swallowed pain.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said, his smile trembling with bitterness, “but you’ve never really been a father to me. Yes, you provided everything I needed—financially. But every single thing came with conditions. Expectations. Your expectations. You needed me to fit into the mold you built, but you never once treated me like your son.”
His voice cracked, but he pushed through, eyes gleaming with hurt.
“You were always gone. Always choosing work over me. And whenever you
