There are a hundred and one reasons why his daughter constantly kicks over the traces.
And the woman sitting opposite him, fussily arranging and re-arranging the table setting, well… she’s probably the biggest one.
One thrives on order, the other on chaos, and together they’ve brought this fragile nucleus to the point of collapse.
Drained by drama, consumed by conflict, and wearied by warring, he’s calling it a day.
There’s a furrow out there with his name on it; he’s off to plough it.
“Call me when the battle’s over.”
He may or may not be inclined to pick up.
I might be missing in action myself for a couple of weeks as the annual advent of the grandkids looms. Two teens and a seven year old… the possibilities are endless. 😉 I’ll look in on Friday Fictioneers when I can, and thanks to Rochelle as ever.