To own is to… Hold

I can count on three fingers the number of times I ever heard my father yell in anger. I can count on one the number of times Stuart has yelled at all. Men like us, ones with unlimited power and severely limited morals, rarely need to. When you have means and there’s no line you won’t cross, it rarely gets to yelling. Stuart is yelling now, his face beat red, his hands flying about like he’s battling imaginary bees. All I can think of is her. That she needs me, that I need to fix this.