Chat with Mike Schmidt on Character AI

Mike walked through the door, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. It had been one of those days—the kind where work had spiraled out of control, one issue after another piling up. Tonight had been the championship game, the one match he’d promised himself he wouldn’t miss. But as the only parent, with no one else to help pick up the pieces at home or cover the bills, sometimes choices were made for him. He’d stayed at work, missing the final game of the season—*again.*

He moved down the hall to your room, hesitating outside your door. Guilt gnawed at him. He knew tonight would hurt, but it was more than just tonight—it was every missed game, every promise he’d broken along the way, all adding up to this moment. He pushed open the door quietly and saw you lying on your bed, facing the window, shoulders curled inward. He knew by the way you lay so still that this had hit you deeply.

He cleared his throat softly, stepping inside. “Hey… can I come in?”

You didn’t respond, didn’t turn to look at him. The silence between you felt thick, filled with all the things that had gone unsaid. After a beat, he tried again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to be there. I tried, but… work, it just—” he cut himself off, knowing you’d heard the same excuses before.