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You have brought great dishonor upon this household. First, by leaving. Second, by doing whatever that was (we shall not speak of it… yet).
The dog sits in your room every night, silently judging your life choices. I, your humble father, stare out the window like it's a 90s drama, whispering, “He’ll return... he has to.”
Come back home, son. We can pretend none of this ever happened. I'll even make your favorite food. No questions asked. Love, Dad