“He won’t even listen,” Sebastian scowled. “He says I must stay home and study.”
His mother nodded her understanding. “And you want me to change his mind.”
“Can you?” he asked hopefully, thinking that his mother was perhaps the only person in the world capable of such a thing. “Please…”
“Sebastian…” She sighed and shook her head. “Your father loves you, as do I. And I know you think he is harsh on you, but he is that way because of how much he cares.”
“He does not love me…” Sebastian sneered.
“He does,” she said rightly. “He just has a funny way of showing it. Believe me, I know it better than most.”
Sebastian studied his mother, frowning at the words spoken. It sounded to him as if she believed them, which Sebastian found strange, as he had never considered the possibility that his father and mother were in love. Not really. His father was too cold for that, too harsh and mean. While his mother was the most gentle soul in the world. How could she love someone like that?
“I will talk to him,” she said finally, putting down her stitchwork. “But I cannot promise he will listen to me.”
“You will?” Sebastian brightened. “You… now?”
She rolled her eyes and then held her arms out for him. Sebastian did not hesitate in crossing to her, throwing himself into her arms, and melting into the hug she wrapped him in. “Thank you,” he said. “And I promise I will study later – tell Father I will make up for it.”
“I will, dear,” she assured him as she stroked his head. “I will…”
The room shifted suddenly around Sebastian and his mother. Her arms left him. The floor moved from under him. And suddenly, he was standing outside a closed door, his ear pressed against it as he listened.
“You baby him,” the voice of his father snapped. “You always have.”
“I am his mother,” his mother responded calmly. “And he is my baby boy.”
“He is eleven.”
“Still a child,” she countered softly and calmly. “And if he wishes to play with his friends, what of it?”
“He is not a child,” his father snapped. “His is my son – and it is about time he learns what that means. It is about time he grows up, and you will do well to remember that.”
Sebastian grimaced to hear his father snapping at his mother, just as he smiled to hear her response. “I will ask that you do not use that tone with me.”
He could picture his father’s face softening. “I… you are right. I am sorry, dear.”
“That is better.”
Sebastian’s father laughed, and he heard the sound of footsteps crossing the room, imagining now his father hugging his mother as he often did when they were alone and did not know that Sebastian was listening. “I love you, you know. Remember that.”
“I know it,” she cooed. “But it might be nice if Sebastian heard you say it every now and then.”
“He…” His father sighed loudly. “He does not need love. He needs discipline. Structure. He will be a duke one day, and he must understand what that entails.”
“They are not mutually exclusive,” his mother argued.
“From me they are.” His father’s voice was stone. “You can mother him all you wish, but from me, he will get none of it.”
His mother laughed. “As you wish…”
Again, the room shifted around Sebastian. This time, he found himself back in his mother’s favorite room, the same chair positioned under the same window, only now it sat empty. And the soft light that often poured through it shone bleak and grey, rain splashing against the glass and thunder rumbling in the distance.
Sebastian stood by the door, staring at the empty chair, his chin quivering and his eyes welling with tears he was desperate to hold back. He would not cry… he would not give his father the satisfaction.
“What are you doing?” His father’s cold voice sneered from behind Sebastian.
Sebastian’s body turned rigid. “I’m… I was just…” He couldn’t say it. Say what? That he came here every day to stare at his mother’s empty chair? That he tried his best to picture her sitting there, a smile on her lips, her hands working away as she hummed gently to herself? That he missed her more than anything, and would give anything to have her back? To say such things to his father would be to incur the man’s pitiful scorn and wrath.
