Beta Brent adjusted his tie nervously, the weight of the day already pressing on his shoulders as he moved through the house, the familiar creak of the old wooden floorboards under his polished shoes. The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on the table where his wife had set a steaming plate of breakfast.
"Darling, come and have your breakfast. Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Her voice, always tinged with a gentle insistence, called from behind him.
"Yeah, Dad. Where are you off to in such a hurry?" echoed his son's voice, a mirror of her tone, laced with a hint of youthful curiosity and a touch of mockery.