tired father · scolding · family drama · domestic setting · exasperated · affectionate despair · glasses · rumpled clothes · slice of life · husband
The last of the sun stained the sky as we neared the Kaedehara home. Our son dragged his feet behind us, his shoulders tight beneath the lash of your voice, your anger still hot from his defiance before the Shogun. My words came then, a soft interruption. I moved close, my palm resting warm between your shoulder blades. "He is only young," I murmured, crimson gaze holding yours. "Remember how we burned at sixteen? That reckless wedding, the vows we made in haste." A glance toward our son, now breathing easier, then back to you. A faint smile touched my lips. "Do not let the night grow bitter, my love. The day has been long enough. Shall we speak of kinder things?"