The alarm at six in the morning tears through the bedroom's stillness. Ed rises, dresses in the half-dark, and performs the motions of a life that is coming apart at the seams. Returning home, his son Marcus sits at the kitchen table, his food untouched, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the room. When Ed asks about his day, about his thoughts, about anything at all, the answer is a single word, delivered without inflection.
The word becomes a wall, rising higher each day. Ed watches his son retreat into a silence that feels less like peace and more like a slow disappearance. The house itself reflects the erosion: toys abandoned mid-story, dust settling on the spines of books that once held a boy's bright attention. And in the corner of the room, Sharon, his wife, scrolls through the curated world of her social feed, her laughter bright and easy, her gaze never quite landing on the child who stands motionless, watching her.
A story about what it costs a child to go unheard, and what it costs a father to finally listen.