“This is not what we invested all that tuition money for, Robert.”
His mother’s voice remained soft, even pleasant. One may think she was but mildly annoyed.
Rob knew better.
It was the same voice that had sent his boyhood self to the attic without dinner for the slightest infraction. That left a small child to shiver there through endless winter nights. That told his father to retrieve the paddle and “do what needed to be done to make a man of an ungrateful son.”
“I am sorry, Mother,” Rob bowed politely in her direction. Bowed just enough to let her know that he no longer cared nor feared her. “I had made it clear that your plans did not fit mine.”
“Your father expects a partner,” she stated. Ordered.
“That ship had sailed, Mother,” he replied. “I bought the farm. I’ll be my own man. Chart my own course.”
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge