04 ┃ 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫

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Stepping outside with your father felt like entering a whole new world. Gone were the familiar, if slightly rundown, streets you saw from your window.

Instead, vibrant shops and bustling cafes lined the sidewalks, their colorful awnings casting playful patterns on the sun-drenched pavement.

It was a stark contrast to your usual world, one carefully curated by your mother's anxieties and confined within the walls of your apartment.

Today, however, your father, emboldened by a rare burst of parental responsibility (or perhaps a guilty conscience), had decided to take you to the park.

Not the one your mother frequented, a secluded affair several blocks away, but the popular one just down the street. The one teeming with life, with children your age laughing and playing with an abandon you'd only witnessed on television.

Despite the excitement bubbling within you, a tiny spark of unease flickered in your chest.

This was uncharted territory.

Your world, meticulously planned by your mother, had always prioritized safety over socialization. So now, plopped into this hurricane of sounds and sights, you felt a sense of vulnerability you hadn't experienced before.

Your father, oblivious to your internal turmoil, seemed to bask in the sunshine. "Ready for some fun, ____?" he boomed, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that felt foreign coming from him.

You offered a hesitant nod, your gaze darting around as you took in the scene.

There were children everywhere—on bikes, climbing structures, chasing each other with shrieks of laughter.

This wasn't the curated silence of your homeschool sessions; this was a symphony of chaos, and you weren't sure if you hated it or loved it.

An undeniable pull, however, led you towards the swings. There were only one of them—its brightly colored seat swaying gently in the breeze, invitingly.

Mustering all your courage, you walked towards it, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you. The ground beneath your feet felt different—softer, somehow, than the worn rug in your living room.

As you approached the swing, the sounds of the park seemed to fade away, replaced by a low hum that resonated deep within your chest.

You reached out and grasped the cool metal chains, a tremor running through your fingertips just as a hand slammed down on the opposite chain.

You looked up to find a boy with spiky blond hair glaring down at you, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that startled you. "This is my swing. Get lost, extra," he declared, his voice rough and demanding. He yanked the chain, forcing the swing to lurch forward.

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