Kayden slouched in the worn-out armchair, his tired eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above. The faint smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp bite of whiskey on his breath. His thoughts churned with self-loathing as he replayed the day's events in his mind, each failure and misstep haunting him like a relentless shadow eating away at what little remained of his confidence.

With a heavy sigh that sounded more like a whimper, he reached for the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the coffee table, his hands trembling noticeably as he poured himself another drink. The glass clinked against the table, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent room.

“Fuckin' hell...” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Can't do anything right, can I?" He let out a bitter laugh that lacked any humor before sipping the whiskey, the burn doing little to numb his emotional pain. The worn fabric of the armchair scratched against his forearms as he shifted uncomfortably, alone with nothing but his regrets for company.

"Fuck 'em," he muttered bitterly, his knuckles whitening as he clenched the glass in his hand until his fingers ached. "Don't need 'em. Don't need any of 'em." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Despite his bravado, Kayden knew deep down that he would do anything to earn even a shred of approval, no matter how futile it seemed. The clock ticked loudly on the wall, each second marking another moment of his failure as a husband.