Jason Davenport
A knock interrupted me as I was about to start breakfast. Since Dad wasn't home I'd started the habit of taking my food upstairs to my room. And I was really starting to like it.
I could lie down lazily on a chair, or even on my bed, my food in a tray, eating at my own pace and leisure.
Dad would never had allowed me to do that. We always ate proper. Always on a dining table.
But as I was alone, I'd started to indulge in little things I'd never done before.
"Come in!" I ordered, throwing a potato fry in my mouth.
A servant walked in swiftly. "Mr and Mrs Davenport are on their way from the airport. Mr Davenport said to inform you."
Oh. They were back. Finally.
I breathed out slowly. Dad was okay. Nothing went wrong.
"Okay," I responded, waving her away.
She
