Parents.. with different treatment

The mark..

Colby's stress had been mounting for weeks. His therapy sessions, though intended to help him understand and control his emotions, had surfaced old wounds and insecurities he'd buried for years. Despite his efforts, he felt himself slipping. The pressure to be a better father, the constant reminders of his past mistakes, and his failures at work — all of it built up inside him until he felt like he couldn't breathe.

One evening, after a particularly intense session, Colby came home feeling raw and on edge. He was barely holding himself together, and every little noise, every small disruption, grated against his nerves. Valerie was working late, and Sam had taken the younger kids out for ice cream, hoping to give Colby a moment of peace. Xander was the only one at home with him.

Xander was quietly playing in the living room, a small smile on his face as he arranged his toys. Colby, lost in his thoughts, tried to relax, sinking into the couch and closing his eyes. But then Xander's voice drifted over, a cheerful hum as he narrated his play. Normally, Colby might have found it endearing, but tonight, it felt like a sharp reminder of everything he wasn't — calm, patient, dependable. He felt the anger rising, and he tried to push it down, to ignore it.

But Xander kept talking, his little voice filling the room. Colby clenched his fists, his frustration building until it felt like a storm raging inside him.

"Xander," he snapped, his voice harsher than he'd intended. "Can you be quiet for just five minutes?"

Xander looked up, startled, his face falling as he quickly silenced himself. "Sorry, Dad," he murmured, his eyes wide with fear. He lowered his head, fiddling with his toys in silence.

But even the sight of his son, sitting there so small and vulnerable, grated against Colby's frayed nerves. He couldn't control the flood of emotions anymore, couldn't hold back the frustration that had been simmering for so long.

In a flash, he was on his feet, crossing the room toward Xander. "Do you ever stop?" he growled, his voice rising as he loomed over his son. "Do you ever just think about someone other than yourself?"

Xander flinched, pressing himself back against the couch, his hands shaking as he held his toy tightly. "I'm... I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

Colby's vision blurred with anger, and before he could stop himself, his hand shot out, grabbing Xander's arm. He yanked him up, his grip tight enough to leave marks. Xander whimpered, his face twisting in pain as he tried to pull away, but Colby only tightened his hold.

"Stop acting like a baby," he snarled, his voice cold. "All you do is whine and complain. Do you know how hard it is to deal with you?"

Xander's eyes filled with tears, his small body trembling as he tried to shrink away. "Dad, please... you're hurting me," he whimpered, his voice barely a whisper.

But Colby didn't hear him. His frustration boiled over, and in that moment, he couldn't see his son's fear or his pain — all he saw was a reminder of his own failures, his own inadequacies.

Finally, he shoved Xander back, his son stumbling and falling against the couch. The force of the push left a bruise on Xander's arm, a dark mark that would serve as a painful reminder of the moment.

As soon as it happened, Colby froze, the fog of anger lifting just enough for him to see what he'd done. Xander lay on the couch, tears streaming down his face, his body curled up in fear.

Colby took a shaky step back, horror filling his eyes. He felt the weight of his actions settle over him like a cold shadow, the reality of what he'd done sinking in. "Xander..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I... I didn't mean..."

But Xander didn't look at him. He just lay there, his small frame shaking, his face buried in his hands as he sobbed quietly.

Colby felt a wave of guilt wash over him, so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet. He wanted to reach out, to comfort his son, to apologize, but he knew it wouldn't matter. The damage was done.

When Valerie returned that night, she found Xander asleep in his room, his little arm bruised and his face pale. She looked at Colby, the unspoken question in her eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. All he could do was turn away, the weight of his shame suffocating him.

In the days that followed, the bruises on Xander's arm faded, but the memory lingered. He withdrew even further, barely speaking to anyone, his once-bright spirit dulled by fear and betrayal. And Colby, drowning in guilt and self-loathing, began to realize that he might have pushed his son away for good.