James Horne, his heart heavy, struggled to squat down in front of Pheobe Rogers. His usually cold eyes, now filled with indescribable pain, fixed on her.
Pheobe Rogers continued, tears and snot streaming down her face, "I gave birth to you. You're a son of the Horne Family! Mom doesn't have grand ambitions; I just want to spend the holidays with you and your dad. Do they really need to treat me this way? After all these decades, I've endured it all. I'm not fighting or trying to grab anything anymore, so why do they still treat me like this?"
Endured? James thought. If she'd truly endured, would she come to the house every day to bother and annoy people? Not fighting or trying to grab anything? If that were true, why does she always instigate me to seize Glades's power? Why does she always cry to Gian, complaining that her son has nothing?
"Mom, what hurtful things did you say?" James extended his hand, helped Pheobe Rogers up from the ground, and asked in a low voice.
