The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.

Brent laughed softly. “Old people love guilt trips.”

I took one slow step toward him.

His smile vanished.

Mia crossed her arms. “Don’t start acting dramatic, Dad. You’re never even here. You have no idea what it’s like managing this house.”

I looked around carefully.

The empty kitchen.

My exhausted wife.

The designer bags stacked near the stairs.

The diamond bracelet glittering on Mia’s wrist.

Then I smiled.

Not because I was calm.

Because neither of them understood what kind of man they had just cornered.