“I am nothing like you!”

The book sailed across the room and struck the family portrait hanging on the wall.

Glass shattered, raining down in sharp echoes that filled the small living room.

For a moment, the only sound was his breathing.

Then he noticed his hand wrapped around the back of the chair, knuckles white.

He had not even realized he had grabbed it, he might have throw that next.

The thought made him let go.

“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 carefully over the scattered shards and knelt next to the fallen portrait.

The frame had broken and a crack ran through the glass.

His face was reflected where his father’s had been in the photo.

The same jaw.
The same eyes.
The same anger.

The only thing separating them was the crack.

… Like Son.