Charles.
My expression was plain as I looked down to the man sitting in front of me. How funny it went from me being so damn scared about him, that even hearing his name had me caught up in a trauma to how not even his appearance does anything to do to me.
How life moves so fast that I am an insult away from sending him out of the house that he had built with his father, then he would see how it feels to be neglected at a certain age. “She is your mother.” He tried to argue his way again.
I snarled, feeling the urge to hold him down until he can’t breath anymore but I held back myself. “I have said it and I will keep on repeating myself, that woman isn’t my mother and she would never be.” I repeated.
If I would get a nickel for how many times I had repeated how she would never be my mo
