I'm curled up on the couch, sipping my wine.
Jack is staring at the blood wine. He's been glaring at the glass for the last ten minutes. Silently.
He clears his throat and breaks the silence.
"My mother is still alive." He says. "But she's dead to me."
A pregnant pause follows before he takes a gulp of wine and continues.
"Mothers are givers." He manages a smile. "They give you life. They give you love. They give you milk. They give you food. They give you support. They give you everything. They give and give and give. Even when they have nothing to give, they still give."
The small smile fades as a deep frown forms on his face.
"My mother is a giver too." He grits his teeth. "She gives hate. She gives poison. She gives pain. She gives self-doubt. She gives suffering. After hurting
