A shadow fell across his face, and the boy looked up to see a man in his early fifties, standing there wit a cruel, hardened look in his face. He glared menacingly at the boy once, and turned.
‘Evelyn’, he commanded, ‘We’re leaving soon.’
His mother dried her tears, and gave him a quick, shaky smile.
‘I hope you’re ready to come’ she said, ‘we have a huge house inFrance. It’s lovely, and has a huge garden, and—’
‘Not the boy!’ the man thundered.
His mother whirled around, shocked. The boy flinched visibly at his voice.
‘The boy is not coming with us’ the man repeated, ‘he stays, and I do not care who stays with him. We leave in ten minutes’ time.’
The little boy nearly gaped. He could not understand how his mother could’ve had left a nice, caring man like his father and married such a cruel man. His mother burst into angry, helpless tears. She was only twenty-nine, but she looked as if she was old, really old.
The boy thought that she was going to react back, shout back defiantly that he was coming, or that she was staying back, but she didn't. She gave him a long look and got up.
The boy felt his world get crushed for the second time on that day.