Because of what it revealed.
The first strike came unexpectedly.
Then another.
And another.
Franklin counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
He continued counting.
Not because he couldn’t fight back.
Because he was witnessing the complete collapse of his relationship with his son.
Each blow represented something lost.
Respect.
Trust.
Admiration.
Hope.
By the time he reached thirty, there was nothing left to salvage.
When Brandon finally stopped, exhausted and breathing heavily, he seemed convinced he had won.
Amber sat nearby with a look of satisfaction.
The room was silent.
Franklin wiped blood from his mouth.
He looked at his son.
And in that moment, he understood a painful truth.
Not every child grows into a grateful adult.
