Gus watched his mother fuss over Fin, feeding him soup spoonful by spoonful. It was a scene he had witnessed often growing up but he didn’t feel the same sting of jealousy that usually blossomed in his chest. Eleanor’s words repeated in his mind until they practically burned a whole through it. Could it be true?
Even from his earliest memories, his mother had always been somewhat flighty and occasionally forgetful. There were times she would be happy only to fall into a deep depression the next day. She would go through spurts of almost debilitating anxiety only to suddenly shake it off to play the perfect hostess. He figured all women, wives of prominent businessmen, were like that. It was just the way it was, but was that right?
Gus’s gaze drifted to his father, and he managed to catch
