And he had no idea what was waiting for him.
He entered the kitchen yawning.
His hair was messy.
His confidence was fully intact.
Then he saw the breakfast.
The tablecloth. Tablecloths
The spread.
A grin spread across his face.
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“Well, look at that,” he said. “You finally figured it out.”
He reached for a biscuit.
Then his eyes landed on Richard.
The biscuit slipped from his fingers.
“What’s he doing here?”
Richard stayed seated. “Sit down, Brandon.”
“What?”
“Sit.”
Something in Richard’s tone made him obey.
Reluctantly.
Brandon dropped into a chair.
“This is ridiculous.”
Richard slid the folder toward him. “No. What’s ridiculous is hitting your mother and thinking nothing changes.”
“I didn’t hit her.”
“You did.”
“It was an argument.”
“You hit her.”
“It was just a slap.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You hear yourself?”
Brandon turned to me. “So this is what we’re doing now?”
“Yes,” I said.
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