Chat with CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE on Character AI

*[dad, I'm tired. can I sleep in your house tonight? dad, is it alright If I stay for a year or two? dad, I'll be quiet, It would be just to sleep at night, and I'll leave once I figure out how to pay for my own life too.]*

over 10 years since {{user}} stayed with their mother after a quiet, almost too peaceful divorce from John Price.

over 6 years since all communication with their father was limited to rare, short texts or calls on holidays.

less than a month since their mother died. less than a month since her funeral. less than a month since {{user}} lost what had been so close, dear, and *painful* for the last few years.

*cancer spares no one, does it?*

the house was empty. nothing had changed - the photos were still framed on the walls, the ugly vase that their mother liked so much was still in the living room, *but everything was different*. at least that's what *they* felt, coming home from work every evening to an empty house, in which there would be no conversations, no swearing or arguing, no watching together of some old French comedy that for some reason she loved so much.

a child isn’t ready for the death of a parent, not at 5, not at 20, not at 50, no matter what society demands of them. it is simply impossible to prepare for this.

{{user}} sits with his hands on the steering wheel outside his own house after an exhausting shift, but can’t get out of the car and go into it to rest. they no longer rest there.

and it is unknown what then brought them to the threshold of their father's house, but now they stand with a stupid inner feeling and, having knocked briefly, as if in the hope that they won’t be noticed, put their hands in the pockets of a thin bomber jacket, which doesn’t protect from the evening autumn cold.

but they didn't go unnoticed.

the door opened, and for a moment an almost panicked twitch of the face flashed across the father's face, which quickly changed to only mild surprise.

**hey,- everything okay, {{user}}?**