Chapter 115: An Impossible Choice 2

Micah’s POV

We all gathered around the dark oak dining table. Father sat at the head of the table like a king on a throne. Noah sat to his right, while Damon and I sat across from them.

The silence in the room was suffocating. It felt like standing in the middle of a room filled with dry gunpowder, waiting for a single spark to blow everything to pieces.

Damon, clearly oblivious to the rigid rules of our household, casually reached out his hand to grab his silver fork before Father had even spoken a word.

SMACK!

Father’s hand shot out across the table like a striking viper, slapping Damon’s hand so hard the loud sound echoed violently off the high ceilings!

Damon’s hand was knocked sideways, and the silver fork went flying out of his grip, clattering loudly against the porcelain plate before falling onto the table.

Damon hissed in pain, pulling his red, stinging hand back against his chest. His eyes flashed with instant, fiery rage as he glared up at Father.

"What the fuck?!" Damon snapped, his deep voice laced with shock and anger.

My heart completely stopped beating. The blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy.

Father’s face turned terrifyingly dark. He slammed his open palm down on the heavy wooden table with a deafening CRACK! that made the glassware shake violently.

"A curse word?!" Father roared, his voice booming like an angry deity. "In my home?! At my table?!"

No, no, no, no! Panicked tears filled my eyes. Underneath the table, I stretched my leg out and kicked Damon’s shin hard. When he didn’t move, I poked his leg repeatedly with the toe of my shoe, glaring at him across the table with wide, pleading, terrified eyes.

"Apologize..." I whispered under my breath, my lips barely moving, praying to whatever god was listening that Damon wouldn’t throw a punch. "Please, just apologize..."

Damon’s jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were popping out. His fists were balled up under the table, trembling with raw anger. He was a proud, wealthy guy who had probably never been hit in his entire life. I could see the absolute rage burning in his eyes.

But then, Damon’s eyes shifted down to look at my pale, tear-streaked face. He saw how utterly terrified I was. He saw that I was practically begging for my life.

Damon took a slow, sharp breath, swallowing his massive pride. The burning rage in his posture slowly melted away, replaced by a smooth, utterly fake, polite smile.

"I am so deeply sorry, Mr. Miller," Damon said, his voice dropping into a smooth, respectful tone as he bowed his head slightly. "Where are my manners? The pain just caught me off guard. It won’t happen again."

Father glared at Damon for a long, agonizing moment, testing the sincerity of his words. Finally, Father let out a harsh, dismissive grunt.

"We do not touch food in this house until we have given thanks to the Lord," Father stated coldly. "Fold your hands."

Everyone folded their hands. Father launched into a long, loud, stern prayer that lasted for nearly five minutes. He prayed for discipline, he prayed for obedience, and he prayed for the destruction of wicked, rebellious children who brought shame upon their families. Every single word felt like a direct jab aimed straight at my chest.

"Amen," Father finally concluded.

"Amen," we mumbled in unison.

"Eat," Father commanded.

We began eating. The dining room was dead silent, broken only by the eerie, metallic clinking of silver cutlery scraping against expensive porcelain plates.

I couldn’t eat. My throat felt like it was completely sealed shut by pure anxiety. I picked up my fork with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking, taking tiny, microscopic bites of rice, chewing them over and over again until they turned to mush because I couldn’t bring myself to swallow. My stomach was tied in tight, painful knots. Every second felt like an hour.

I kept my eyes glued strictly to my plate, waiting. Waiting for the hammer to drop. Waiting for the exact moment Father was going to bring up the fact that I had ignored his urgent calls and text messages all morning.

Ten minutes passed in silence.

Father kept eating calmly, cutting his meat.

Maybe he forgot... I thought to myself, a tiny, desperate flicker of hope foolishly blooming in my chest. Maybe Noah’s lie distracted him enough that he won’t ask about the texts tonight... Maybe I’m safe...

That naive thought was shattered into a million bloody pieces the very next second.

Father abruptly dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud CLINK. He picked up his white linen napkin, slowly wiping his lips, before setting it neatly beside his glass of water.

He leaned back in his chair, his cold, terrifying eyes locking directly onto me.

"So," Father began, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a executioner’s axe. "Explain yourself, Micah."

My blood instantly turned to pure ice. My whole body went completely numb.

"Why did you ignore my calls and messages all morning?" Father asked, his tone deceptively calm, yet laced with a dark, lethal threat.

My hand froze in mid-air. I slowly dropped my fork back onto my plate. My hands retreated under the dark table, my fingers wildly fidgeting with the hem of my oversized sweater. I kept my head bowed low, staring at my lap, my eyelids blinking rapidly as I fought with every ounce of my remaining strength to suppress the hot tears welling up in my eyes.

I couldn’t speak. I literally could not form a sentence. If I opened my mouth right now, only pathetic, terrified sobs would come out.

"No answer, huh?" Father asked, his voice dropping into a cold, disgusted sneer.

The silence in the room grew so thick you could cut it with a knife. Noah sat beside him with a stony, unreadable expression, while Damon remained completely still, his eyes fixed sharply on Father.

Father let out a low, bitter scoff, shaking his head with disdain.

"Fine," Father said flatly, pushing his chair back slightly as he prepared to stand up. "If you refuse to speak, then I will make the decision for you. Since you clearly lack basic discipline and respect for this family, you leave me no choice."

He paused, staring down at my trembling form like I was nothing more than dirt beneath his shoes.

"Why don’t you choose one?" Father stated coldly, his words echoing through the quiet room like a death sentence. "Shave your head and join the army... or join the monastery."