MARTINS POV.
“Is this really all you intend to do?” A cold and domineering voice that I had come to get used to called from my entrance.
The door pushed ajar and he made his way inside.
“Good evening, father.” I greeted, trying hard not to match his gaze; usually he called me up to his room whenever he had something to say or do. I wonder what the difference was this once; why wasn't he ordering me around for talking down on me like he usually would?
“What exactly is good about the evening? Coming in to see your couple in bed all day and night, is this what you do? How are you to prove yourself as my son to the world? Do you want nothing else than to be a cripple?” He asked.
Why was he in such a mood? Usually he never bothered saying more than a three- or four-word syllable to me, ye
