Tiara's pov
After that day, my father's drinking worsened. He no longer had control over it, or maybe he didn't want to. He would stay out all night, sometimes not even coming home until the morning. On the nights he did return, he was often in such bad shape that someone had to bring him back, usually a neighbor or a stranger.
Each time I saw him stumbling in, I felt an uncomfortable knot growing in my chest. I couldn't stay silent anymore. One evening, I finally mustered the courage to confront him.
"Dad, is there any problem?" I asked as he slumped on the couch, looking completely defeated. "Why are you drinking so much nowadays? You're coming home wasted, and that too with the help of others. Did something happen? You know you can share it with me."
