There was a minute of silence. Joe was staring down at his plate while Tessa took a small bite of the food. Even while eating, she stared at him. He had a hard look on his face, as if something had been bothering him. "Joe?" She called softly, making him look up for a brief second.
"I moved here when I was eight. Just me and my mother. We were quite poor to say the least." He said, grabbing his wine glass before taking a sip. "We were on a run, you could say. You see, my father wasn't very good at handling stress. And the struggles that we had to go through to make ends meet resulted in bursts of anger. Often, after a day's of work, my father would drink a bottle of beer or some thing more strong. It never ended well.
"Before I knew it, I was living my life with a drunk who couldn't cope
