Chapter 1 - The First Snap
"Why? That's your job, I'm busy."
The heavy silence that followed Marcus’s words seemed to physically press down on the living room air, thick with the scent of dish soap drifting from the open-plan kitchen. Across the room, the faint, tinny sound of a mobile game victory jingle still played from the screen of a black smartphone held in the teenage boy’s hands.
Marcus didn't look up from his device. He sat slumped on the well-worn leather sofa, his short dark hair slightly messy, wearing his favorite black hoodie and comfortable gray sweatpants. His thumbs tapped the glass screen again, a dismissive reflex born of teenage stubbornness and a chronic lack of perspective. Just a few feet away, his mother, Sarah, stood motionless at the kitchen sink. Her hands, submerged in warm, soapy water, paused mid-motion. She held a ceramic plate tightly, her dark curly hair framing a face that instantly tightened with quiet exhaustion. She didn't yell or drop the plate; instead, her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, carrying the weight of a disrespect she hadn't earned.
David, Marcus’s father, didn't hesitate. Sitting in the armchair nearby, dressed in a faded green t-shirt and matching gray sweatpants, David had been watching the evening unfold. His gaze hardened instantly.
"What did you just say to your mother?" David’s voice was low, carrying a dangerous, controlled stillness that cut through the room better than any shout could have.
Marcus finally lifted his chin, his dark eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and sudden nervousness as he saw his father rising from the armchair. David stood tall, towering over the coffee table, his expression cold and unyielding. With a swift, authoritative motion, David reached down and plucked the smartphone straight out of Marcus's hands, locking the screen instantly.
"No, you don't speak to your mother like that," David said, stepping closer, his voice unwavering. "Put your attitude away and go help your mother, then you're going to apologize to her. Games can wait, respecting your mother cannot."
May you like
Marcus sank back into the leather cushions, his body language shifting from defiant to completely defeated as his father turned and walked toward the hallway. The house fell dead silent, save for the dripping faucet in the kitchen. Marcus stared at the blank screen of the confiscated phone on the coffee table, unaware that the black glass was about to light up with a text notification from an unknown number, displaying a message meant for someone else entirely.
---
