Anticipation hung in the air as the family gathered in silence. As they waited for their mother, the only sound was the beating of their hearts. The calm before the storm had never felt so charged.

The short-tempered sister shifted in her seat, bouncing her legs up and down. She couldn't stand the tension. "Can we just get on with it already?" she muttered.

The arrogant brother rolled his eyes. "You're always in such a rush, sis. You should learn to slow down and savor the moment."

"Easy for you to say," the sister retorted. "You don't know anything about real work."

"Real work?" the brother scoffed. "Cooking is an art form. It takes skill, patience, and creativity. Something you wouldn't understand, Miss Perfect."

The sister glared at him. "At least I'm not a show-off like you. You think you're so great just because you can throw together a decent meal."

As the argument escalated, the bickering was shattered by a door slamming. Their mother entered, her presence heavy and oppressive. She stood tall and stern, her eyes cold and unyielding.

Without a word, she silenced the squabbling siblings with a single withering glance. The room froze.

Her gaze swept over the room like a searchlight. The siblings shrank back, eyes downcast and guilty.

"That is enough," she said. "This bickering is unbecoming of our family. We are better than this."

The siblings hung their heads in shame. Her disapproval was a weight they could not bear.

Her eyes flicked to the arrogant brother. For a moment, the air was sucked out of the room. Then, with a single nod, she spoke.

"Your brother is going through a difficult time. He needs our support now more than ever."

The siblings exchanged a look. They both knew what their mother meant, but neither wanted to acknowledge it.

"He's struggling," she continued. "He needs us to be there for him. To show him that we love him, no matter what."

The siblings shifted in their seats. The weight of her words was palpable.

"And so," she said, "we will visit him. We will show him that we are a family, and that we stand by each other in times of need."

Then the mother left as quickly as she entered leaving the room in tense silence.

---

Kendrick entered the building, feeling a cold sweat run down his back. The walls were painted in a sickly shade of yellow, and the air was thick with antiseptic. Muffled voices echoed down the hallway.

The doors all looked the same, each one an identical shade of beige. The only thing that differentiated them was the nameplates.

Finally, they reached their destination: a plain, unadorned room furnished with a table and two chairs.

Kendrick felt a lump form in his throat as he took in the room's barren emptiness. It resembled a prison cell. The only thing that differentiated it from a jail cell was the presence of a window, which offered a view of the bleak, gray sky outside.

Kendrick was directed to sit down by the staff, his heart heavy with the unspoken emotions lingering about in the air. He knew what they wanted to say, what they couldn't say. He knew that what he had was something that they considered a problem, something that made them uncomfortable. But he also knew, deep down, that it couldn't be fixed.

He slumped down in the chair, feeling the weight of betrayal settle over him. He knew that this was the end of the road, that there was nowhere left to go. All he could do was wait for the storm to pass, and hope that he would make it through.

---

Three months had passed since Kendrick started attending his sessions, and he felt more lost than ever. He went through the motions of life without feeling anything. His mind was a dark and stormy sea, and his thoughts relentlessly battered against the shore, much like waves against a rock.

The day hung heavy and gray, obscuring the world in a shroud of sorrow. This sorrow brought along his sister, smiling as if nothing was wrong. Kendrick knew better. He could see the worry etched into her face, like a map of all the things she wanted to say but couldn't.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

Kendrick shrugged, not trusting himself to speak. His emotions were knotted and tangled.

"I know this is hard," his sister said, her voice tinged with sadness. "But Mother is worried about you."

Kendrick looked away, unable to meet her gaze. He knew what was coming next. He had heard it all before.

"She just wants what's best for you," his sister continued, her voice pleading. "She wants you to be happy, and she doesn't think you can be happy if you're...like this."

Kendrick's heart sank.

"You can't change who you are," his sister said, her voice desperate. "But you can choose how you live your life. You can choose to make Mother happy."

Kendrick sat in silence, his sister's words ringing in his ears. He didn't know how to respond. He wanted to tell her how much her words hurt, how much he wished things could be different. But he couldn't find the words. All he could do was sit there, feeling the weight of his sadness pressing down on him.

As his sister left, her footsteps echoed down the hallway. The absence of her presence left the air feeling empty, as if a deflated balloon was hovering in the room. Kendrick sat alone in the silence, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions.

He gazed out the window, watching as the clouds drifted lazily across the sky. They looked like cotton candy, sweet and soft and innocent. Kendrick wished he could be like them, free and weightless and carefree.

---

Another three months had passed, but Kendrick felt no better than he had before. His exhaustion was evident in the wilted state of his flower-like form. Petals drooped from his being, weighed down by the burden of his struggles.

One day, his brother visited. As soon as Kendrick saw him, his stomach twisted with anxiety. His words came out cold like chips of ice. "You're not making this easy for anyone," his brother said.

Kendrick tried to ignore him, but his words kept ringing in his ears. "You're a thorn in our side, always causing problems. Why can't you just be ordinary?"

Kendrick felt anger rise within him and clenched his fists. "You're tearing this family apart," his brother continued. "Can't you see how much pain you're causing?"

Kendrick's brother's words reverberated in his mind, striking his thoughts like a hammer striking an anvil. Each syllable was a blow, a reminder of his inadequacy.

"You need to change," his brother said, his voice cold and final. "You need to be like us. You need to be more normal."

As his brother spoke, Kendrick's rage boiled within him, and his brother's words struck him with the force of a knife to the gut.

He could feel his brother's eyes on him, bearing down heavily upon him like a burden he couldn't shake off. He knew what his brother was thinking - that he was weak, that he was broken, that he was less than. And it made him want to scream.

But he didn't. He just sat there, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking as his brother continued to speak. He knew that he couldn't change his brother's mind. He knew that he couldn't make him see things differently.

So he just held it in. And the anger burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

---

Yet another three months had passed, and Kendrick felt like he was moving through life in a daze. The world around him appeared muted, like a photograph that had lost its color and vibrancy over time.

His therapist had given him coping mechanisms, but they felt like empty gestures. He knew what he was supposed to do - breathe deeply, practice mindfulness, and focus on the present moment - but it all felt like a futile exercise.

When his father came to visit him, Kendrick felt a mix of emotions as he saw his father's face - a combination of sadness, anger, regret, and hope.

They sat in silence for a while, neither of them knowing what to say. Kendrick's father looked like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

Finally, he spoke. "Ken," he said, his voice soft. "I'm sorry."

Kendrick looked at his father, his eyes hard. "Call me Kendrick," he said, his voice cold.

His father looked taken aback, as if he had been slapped. "Ken," he said, his voice pleading. "Please."

Kendrick shook his head. "I'm not close enough to you to let you call me that. You don't know me."

After a long silence, Kendrick's father cleared his throat. "Son," he said, his voice hesitant. "Sometimes, we have to change to fit in. That's just how society works."

Kendrick's eyes narrowed. "So what?" he said, his voice rising. "I have to pretend to be someone I'm not just to make you happy?"

"No, no," his father said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I just mean...you have to grow up, Kendrick. The way you’re living right now is..."

Kendrick felt his anger rise within him, like a boiling pot about to overflow. He could feel the heat of it in his cheeks, could feel the tension in his body.

He got up from his chair, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, like he was underwater.

He walked over to the glass screen that separated him from his father, his eyes fixed on the older man's face.

And then he smashed his fist into the glass.

The sound was deafening, ringing in their ears like a sudden explosion. It drowned out the silence in the room.

The glass shattered, sending shards flying in all directions.

The guards were on him in an instant, dragging him away from his father and out of the room.

Kendrick didn't resist. He didn't fight back. He just let them take him away.

As he was dragged down the hallway, he could hear his father's voice, calling out to him. But it sounded far away, like it was coming from another world.

Kendrick didn't know what would happen next. He didn't know where he was going, or what would become of him.

All he knew was that he was angry. And that he was tired.

Tired of pretending.

---

A year later.

"Grandma, why did Kendrick have to change?" one of the grandchildren asked.

"Well, you see, sometimes people have trouble fitting in," the grandmother replied. "But Kendrick didn't want to change, and that made things hard for everyone."

There was a moment of silence before the grandmother spoke again, her voice tinged with disappointment. "But Kendrick made his choice, and it wasn't the right one. He hurt a lot of people, including me."

The grandchildren looked at each other, unsure of what to say. The room was silent, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

After a few moments, the grandmother spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he's gone now."

The grandchildren sat in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. The room was filled with unspoken words and emotions that hung heavily in the air.

But underneath it all, there was a sense of relief. The burden of Kendrick's difference had finally been lifted, and the family could move on. Without him.