Maya

Richard has been abnormally quiet ever since our trip to the hospital yesterday. I try to pry him away from his foul mood with a few comments, but it only seems to make him frown like I’m some nuisance.

If possible, the next day back only gets progressively worse. I can’t type with my right hand, so I’m limited to pecking individual keys with my left index finger. I’m tempted to throw my keyboard at the wall after only half an hour of working on a spreadsheet. Instead of resorting to violence, because we all know how that went last time, I text my knight in shining Armani.

James strolls into the office thirty minutes later. “I always thought it would be Richard who showed Dad what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his parenting style, but it turns out you did the favor for…