Chapter 2: The Miller Family

"Clark, can you pass the wine?" Mary's voice was chilly, with no touch of warmth as she looked at him over her shoulder.

Clark blinked, taken off guard. He reached for the wine bottle on the table, his hand firm despite the growing tension in the room. The Millers were all seated around the large dining table: Mary's father, Harold; her brother, Fred; and herself. The atmosphere was thick and almost suffocating.

He poured the wine into Mary's glass, but her gaze remained fixed on her phone, not even acknowledging his gesture.

Fred chuckled from across the table. "You know, Clark, I had been wanting to ask you. How do you feel about "staying at home'?" His voice was full of mockery.

Clark's fork paused halfway into his mouth. The question struck on him with the heft of a big boulder.

Fred reclined in his chair, a self-satisfied smile growing across his face."I mean, that must be tough. Not having a personal career to rely on. You are effectively living off Mary now, right?"

Clark's grasp on the fork intensified. He could feel the heat of the family's condemnation descending on him. Fred was playing his usual game—always subtle, always sharp—but the impact of his remarks was unmistakable.

"I'm working on my next steps, Fred," Clark answered calmly, attempting to keep his cool. "You know that."

"Working on," Fred said, nodding with feigned concentration. "Just as you were working on it when you were sacked from your previous job. I cannot say I am surprised, however. That place was always a little overwhelming for someone like you."

Mary gave Fred a brief warning glance, but her face was unreadable. It was evident she was not going to intercede.

Fred smirked as he took a mouthful of his steak, the edge of his words becoming sharper with each sentence. "I guess that's what occurs when you get overly relaxed." A man is expected to support and take care of his family, but what happens if he can't even support himself? He lifted an eyebrow and gazed straight at Clark.

Harold, who had remained silent until now, finally said. "Fred has a point, Clark. Mary deserves more than empty promises." His tone was cold, his remarks sharp. "I have been in business long enough to realize that actions are more powerful than words." "If you truly want to earn a living, you must have more than mere excuses."

Clark's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to remain cool. It wasn't just Fred and Harold anymore; everyone was circling him, waiting for him to break.

"Look, I understand what you're saying," Clark answered slowly, attempting to keep his voice calm. "I have suffered setbacks, but I will not give up."I will find a way."

Fred snorted. "Oh, I am certain you will. But at this rate, Mary will be the one carrying you. Again." He leaned forward, his smile becoming to a snarl. "Clark, don't you think it's time to step up? The actual world isn't as tolerant as Mary has been."

Clark felt fire building in his chest. He could feel his face blushing, the venom of Fred's remarks sinking deeper by the second. He wanted to say anything to defend himself. But he did not. Instead, he clenched his teeth and placed his fork down, attempting to swallow his fury.

"Fred, enough," Mary murmured, her voice frigid. "Don't you think you've made your point?"

Fred raised his hands in a mock surrender. "Okay, fine. I was only asking. "There's no need to get worked up." He took another bite of his dinner, as if nothing had occurred.

Clark glanced at his plate, his thoughts whirling. He knew they would never accept anything he said after the argument had escalated into an assault. The Millers were not interested in comprehending; they simply wanted him to be someone he was not.

He sneaked a look at Mary. Her gaze remained locked on her phone, her disinterest stinging harder than any of Fred's remarks.

The hush stretched, disturbed only by the scrape of cutlery against plates. Clark's gut wrenched, but he strained to remain calm. He refused to give them the joy of watching him crumble.

"So, Clark," Fred started again, breaking the stillness with a light and lighthearted tone. "What are your plans now? With all that leisure time, perhaps you could consider something practical. Like a hobby. You know, something to keep you busy."

Clark's knuckles turned white, but he did not answer. There was no point debating anymore. He had long since realized that no matter how hard he tried, Fred would always find a way to make him feel tiny.

But he wasn't about to let it break him. He could not.

As the dinner progressed, Clark's mind became preoccupied with future possibilities. He could not allow the Millers to define him. He couldn't stay in their shadow forever. He sought a method to become self-sufficient, regain his sense of purpose, and prove that he wasn't merely a failure destined to be discarded.

But upon reflection, he understood just how much harder it would be than he initially expected.

Fred's remarks hung in the air like a gloomy cloud. "A guy is meant to care for his family. Provide."

What if he can't? What if he wasn't enough?

He met Fred's eyes from across the table. His eyes shone with joy, a nasty sparkle of triumph. Fred knew he'd reached him. And for a little moment, Clark nearly believed it. Maybe Fred was correct. Maybe he was simply a failure.

But no.

He couldn't let it be real. Not now. Not ever.

As the dinner concluded and the Millers resumed their evening, Clark remained sitting, staring at the empty plate in front of him. His chest squeezed with silent determination.

He would prove everyone wrong. He would rise again no matter whatever it took.

But how?

The question persisted in his thoughts, unanswered. And the dread—the gnawing doubt—settled in his stomach. 

What was his next step?