There, in the corner, sat the man, trembling hands clutching a piece of foil, his fingers working quickly to light something on it. A cold wave of realization washed over Neal, his heart sinking. No surprise, really—some habits never fade.

Neal remembered what his father had said the last time he asked for money.

“Son, I’m finished with that life. I’ve been thinking about starting a small shop—a new beginning.

No more chasing pipe dreams for me. Just a simple convenience store. Help me with the startup capital, and I’ll pay you back from the profits.

I understand you’re dealing with a lot, what with your mother’s health bills and everything. I want to help ease that burden. Let’s return to how we used to be, a family again. Things will get better.

I’ve quit for good. I’ve beaten it. That stuff is poison, son. It’s destructive for everyone. It destroys lives.”

Neal vividly recalled the fleeting sense of hope these promises had sparked in him.

He had believed the shadows were behind them, and a new dawn was breaking.

Yet those promises were merely illusions, delicate and temporary, easily shattered by his father’s adept manipulations.

Overwhelmed, Neal burst into the bathroom and grabbed the item from his father’s grip.

The white powder dusted off from the foil and drifted to the floor. With bloodshot eyes, his father glared at him and roared, “What are you doing? Do you have any idea how much this is?”

Neal sneered inwardly.

Hadn’t all the money for these substances been taken from him? The earnings that he had accumulated, which far exceeded those of his peers, had been carelessly squandered by his reckless father.

Desperately, his father dropped to the floor, scrabbling to collect the powder. He then lit it up with a lighter.

A thin trail of smoke rose as he took a deep breath, his face relaxing into a look of satisfaction.

That expression of sheer bliss pierced Neal’s heart like a dagger. He moved closer and stamped out the pile with his foot.

Watching his pleasure being destroyed, Neal’s father’s fleeting joy vanished, replaced by a gnawing emptiness inside.

“Move your foot! Remove it now!” His voice turned frantic, his hands tugging at Neal’s ankle, attempting to pull him back. Neal, however, remained steadfast, unwavering.

His father was consumed by agony, feeling as if swarms of ants were biting his bones and venomous insects were painfully burrowing into his brain, tearing through his nerves and flesh.

He desperately needed the substance to quell his torment! Yet, all his efforts failed to move Neal’s steadfast foot. Driven to desperation, he staggered upright, braced himself against the wall, and delivered a punch to Neal’s face.

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