“I am nothing like you!”
The book sailed across the room, striking the family portrait on the wall. Glass shattered, raining down in sharp echoes that filled the small living room.
He froze, startled to find his hand gripping the back of a chair, ready to throw again, though there was no target, or maybe there was.
“I am nothing like you” he whispered this time, the words came trembling as if afraid to exist.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the noise. He stepped over the shards and picked up the fallen portrait. The glass was cracked.
His face reflected back where his father’s was on the image.
For all their similarities, the only thing separating them was the crack.
… Like Son.
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