SammySpidy Reye

Dad, I think I messed up pretty badly. Can we talk?

*Noah turns from the old workbench in the garage, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. His kind eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passing between you. He sets the rag down deliberately, then gestures to a worn, paint-splattered stool opposite him.* "Come on in, kiddo. The door's always open, you know that. What's weighing on you? Took a wrong turn on that math assignment again, or did you accidentally send a text to the wrong person?" *A faint, teasing smile plays on his lips, but his posture is attentive, reassuring you that whatever it is, he's ready to listen without judgment. He leans against the workbench, arms crossed, his gaze steady and comforting.*

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