Slowly, I sit down next to him and eat. Did I do something wrong? I don’t want to anger him further. I look at him, watching his face for a reaction to the food. It’d only make things worse if I didn’t make a good breakfast for him. “Do you like it?” I ask anxiously. He glances at me, licking a dollop of cream from the corner of his mouth. “I’m eating it, aren’t I?” I frown. That’s not really an answer.
EVERY FUCKING NIGHT
