That night, the father sat by his son's bedside, holding his small hand tightly. In a trembling voice, he spoke,
> "You know, when I was your age, my father never had time for me either. He worked all day in the fields and spent his nights drinking. When he came home, he'd yell at my mother… sometimes even hit her.
I used to promise myself I'd never be like him. I swore I'd be a better father."
He paused, tears blurring his vision.
> "But look at me now. I've become the same man I hated. I've lost what truly mattered — you."
The boy closed his eyes gently, his hand still in his father's.