Landon's family

Landon scribbled furiously in his notebook, biting his lip as the weight of the situation bore down on him. *"If she ever found out about this, I don't think she would ever forgive me. Gosh, what do I do?"* His mind raced with the possibilities, none of them offering any comfort. The pages of the book were filled with hasty notes, plans half-formed, and the fear that lingered just below the surface.

*Knock, knock.*

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Landon exhaled, closing the book and tossing it to the side.

"Come in!" he called out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. The door creaked open, revealing his mother standing in the doorway. She was graceful as always, her poised demeanour masking whatever emotions were stirring beneath the surface.

"Why have you decided to be caged up in your room?" she asked, her gaze fixed on him, trying to read him. "Everyone's having dinner, and we're all waiting for you."

Landon hesitated, staring at the floor before replying, "What about him?"

His mother blinked, her expression faltering just for a moment. "Who?" she asked, though they both knew the answer.

"Dad," Landon said, his voice quieter now. "Is he also waiting for me?"

A tense silence filled the room as his mother's gaze drifted away from him. She looked down at the floor, her response carefully measured. "Landon…"

"Yeah, thought so too," he muttered, cutting her off as he stood up from the bed. He walked to his closet, yanking the door open as he rummaged for something to wear. He could feel his mother's eyes on him, the concern she tried so hard to hide.

"Landon, sweetie…" she started again, her voice softening, but he wasn’t in the mood for more words.

"Not now, Mom," he said sharply, pulling a shirt over his head. He grabbed his jacket and opened the door. "Let's get going. We don't want to keep everyone waiting," he said, avoiding her gaze as he brushed past her.

His mother followed him down the stairs without another word. Landon could feel the tension between them, but he wasn’t ready to confront it. Not today. Not with everything else going on. The weight of his secret pressed heavily on his shoulders, threatening to overwhelm him with each step he took.

As they reached the dining room, the soft chatter from earlier fell silent. Landon glanced around the table, where his family sat, waiting. His younger sister, Emily, twirled a strand of her hair absentmindedly. His uncle Robert fiddled with his phone. Even his aunt Linda, the eternal optimist, looked tense. The one person missing from the table, though, was the one who mattered the most.

Ticking 2 p.m. now, everyone waited patiently for Thomas Smith.

Moments later, the soft chatter at the dinner table was interrupted by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. All heads turned to see Thomas Smith, tall, dark, and commanding, making his way toward the family. His presence filled the room, radiating authority with every step. His physique, chiselled and strong, demanded respect, while his confidence bordered on intimidation.

"I'm sorry, family, for keeping you all waiting," Thomas said, his deep voice resonating like an old record player, smooth yet commanding.

His wife, Grace, smiled warmly, her eyes filled with admiration as she looked up at him. "It's okay, love. The children know they can't eat without their father. Besides, we're all complete and happy to gather as a family. Isn't that right, children?" Her voice was light and hopeful as her gaze moved over each of them.

"Yes, of course," said the eldest son, his words polite but lacking enthusiasm.

"She's right. We love you," echoed the eldest daughter, trying to maintain the image of unity that their mother so desperately wanted.

"That's right, Daddy!" chimed in the twins, their innocent faces lighting up with joy.

"Yeah, yeah, can we eat now? I'm starving," grumbled the middle son, breaking the momentary spell of harmony.

Grace glanced over at Landon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. "Landon?" she asked awkwardly, trying to draw him into the conversation.

Landon’s eyes met his mother’s, a storm of emotions swirling behind them. "I guess so," he muttered. "Besides, that's the only time we get to see him. It's not like he cares anyway."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Grace’s smile faltered, and she shot a warning glance at her son. "Landon!" she scolded him, her voice strained with both anger and desperation.

Landon looked back at her, his expression unyielding. "What? You know I'm correct. All of you! Can we all stop pretending that we are one happy family? It's sickening!"

The tension snapped as Thomas slammed his hand on the table, the noise reverberating through the room. "That's enough!" he growled, his deep voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I won't have my son talk to me rudely!" He pulled out a chair and sat at the head of the table, his eyes locked on Landon.

Landon scoffed, disbelief flashing across his face. "Rudely?" he repeated, his tone dripping with bitterness.

He turned to his mother, searching for something in her eyes. "Mom?" he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with sadness and hurt.

Grace’s expression softened, but she remained silent. "Son…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Landon shook his head, inhaling sharply as if trying to steady himself. "Just forget it," he said, his voice hollow. "I…I think I need time alone."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the dining room, the weight of his unresolved emotions trailing behind him like a shadow. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he made his way back upstairs, each step taking him further away from the fractured scene downstairs.

"Landon! Son!" Thomas barked after him, his voice growing more intense with each shout. But Landon didn’t turn back. He kept walking until the door to his room shut behind him, sealing him away from the chaos.

Grace reached out and gently touched Thomas’s hand, her fingers soft against his skin. "Honey, please calm down. I'll talk with him," she said quietly, trying to soothe the anger that was simmering just below the surface.

Thomas clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he looked at her. His eyes, usually so sure and unwavering, flickered with uncertainty. Grace held his gaze, her expression pleading. Finally, he exhaled, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders.

"Fine," he muttered, though the anger still lingered in his voice. "But this has to stop."

Grace nodded, though deep down, she knew that the rift between father and son wasn’t something that could be easily mended. The dinner that was supposed to bring them all together had only served to highlight how far apart they were.