“My father never bought my mum a present, not once. If he ever got us something, it was because he expected something in return, it always came with strings. Kenzo used to love Christmas, opening the presents from our mum, but my father would tally up each one in his head. You could see it hurt our mother, she was so quiet, a frail, weak woman, even if she loved us greatly. Eventually, Christmas stopped, but Kenzo used to find a way to get her a present every year. He earned his own money and would buy her something, sneaking it to her when my dad wasn’t looking. He thought it would help make
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