Chapter 3: The Break

Just as I turned to leave, Zoe suddenly looked over.

“Dad? Why are you here? Are you following me?”

Her eyes were full of disgust, as if I were some kind of monster.

I caught my reflection in the glass—rumpled business shirt, drawn face, dark circles under my eyes from another sleepless night. I probably did look like someone who didn’t belong here. I straightened up, trying to remember the last time I felt welcome anywhere.

My expression turned cold.

“I’m your dad. I don’t need your permission to be here.”

And again, the chorus:

Here we go. The villain always pulls this—treats his daughter like property, acts all high and mighty, and forces his ideas on everyone.

I was left speechless by the invisible jeers. I was just trying to be a parent, but in their eyes, I was a controlling creep. Maybe that’s how I looked to Zoe, too.

She looked ready to argue, but I added, “You’re an adult now. You have your own judgment and ideas. As long as you can handle the consequences, I won’t interfere anymore.”

Each word landed like a stone in my chest. I turned to leave.

Zoe’s eyes lit up.

“Really? You promise you’ll never care about me again?”

She sounded half-hopeful, half-daring me to break my word. The boy beside her watched, wide-eyed, like he was seeing a TikTok prank unfold.

I glanced back and grunted, “Yeah.”

Her smile twisted into a scowl.

“You just say that. People like you never let me be free. I know you too well. You’re just pretending because there are outsiders.”

No matter what I did, it was always wrong. I couldn’t be bothered to explain. “Think whatever you want,” I said, and left.

Jenny and I have been married twenty years. Zoe is already eighteen. Ever since she was born, I was terrified—afraid she’d get hurt, that some creep would trick her. I admit I’ve been strict, but maybe it’s time to let go.

My assistant called—the meeting was over. Luckily, she’d explained things to the higher-ups and saved the project. I didn’t want to go back to the office. The barrage of judgment and learning how Zoe saw me was too much. I could only go home.

The house was cold, the stove unused, the floor scattered with muddy footprints and Kroger receipts. I was fuming.

Jenny, meanwhile, was sprawled on the couch, half-watching TV, scrolling on her phone, the AC humming, fingers stained orange from Cheetos as she munched away, barely glancing up when I walked in. ESPN blared in the background, a candle leftover from last Christmas flickered on the end table. This was our American Dream—a house with central air and nobody talking to each other.

After twenty years of marriage, I’d spoiled Jenny into a little princess. She did no housework, didn’t work, just relied on me for everything, always with her hand out.

At first, I didn’t think it was a problem. After all, I’d paid a hundred grand in wedding expenses—if my wife ran off, my money would go with her.

Jenny heard the commotion and called out without looking up, “My brother wants to buy a new house. I gave him fifty grand to help out. Remember to pay me back.”