Davin
_____
My father stood staring at my mother, pain evident on his face. He was hurt. He had probably never expected my mother to disagree with him. Ever. Although they were fated mates, I doubt he had ever cared to ask her opinion or consult her regarding decisions that affected them both. I could see how wrong that was now; expecting someone to follow you blindly and have no say in their own lives was akin to slavery in a way. My mother must have had dreams and plans for her life at some point; perhaps I could help her revisit them, achieve them.
“You will regret this too,” he spat at my mother, veins standing out in his neck. “Don’t even think of crawling back to me later.”
My mother looked him in the eye, standing her ground, yet I could feel her tremble where she held my arm.
