Somewhere in New York.
. . .
"Do you even know what time it is?" The man snapped from the kitchen.
"I had work." The woman responded.
"Work? Is getting drunk also a part of your job? Hah. Your work must be real fun if it keeps you out this late." He scoffed.
"At least I'm trying to provide for this family!"
"Oh please," his voice raising.
"You barely even look at your own kid anymore."
"You're one to talk, do you even know how old he is now?"
"Are you mocking me? At least I have real work, while you're busy getting drunk in the middle of the night!"
"Yeah, because that's all you do! work, work, work!"
Their voices grew louder.
"Maybe if you stop blaming me for
everything—!" He yelled.
"Maybe if you actually acted like a father—!"
A door slammed before either of them could finish.
. . .
From the other room, a light shone through the slight opening of the door, there stands a 6 years old boy quietly watching his parents as the door slowly close. The kitchen went silent, only a sniffle can be heard from the room.
This was only a part of his everyday life.