After years of having attempted to make a man of value out of his son, he had resigned that it wouldn’t happen. He was already an adult, far beyond his developing years and the mold of his sons soul had giving it shape, and its outcome had hardened into the monstrosity that came out. An ignoble fool, a twisted wretch that was a sight of shame to the man. Such high hopes when that child had been born, now shattered like a glass slammed into the floor, and with it the love he had once had for his son vanished. It had been held together with that hope that existed at his birth, like a glass holding together fine wine, now splattered alongside the glass with no hope of it being put back together.
At hearing the news that they have had a fight, and vile words had been exchanged, the mans wife and mother of his son confronted the man. She asked him to have piety on the “boy” at first, then attempted to shame him as it if was a moral failing of him to have standards when this didn’t work. How could he not love him the woman asked, when that boy was part of him, it had been produced by his own flesh and blood. The man calmly responded “so does my shit, and I don’t wish to keep that either.”
The woman kept silence and tried to force moral indignation by her facial expression, but a truth dawned on her: If God had given her the choice to recombine their DNA and produce another offspring, anything by him, by simply pressing a button, she would break down in tears and smash that button again and again until something else worthy of their love and time appeared. Something they could be proud of calling their son. He was supposed to be beautiful, but something went terribly wrong.
She look at the man in silence, took a deep breath, looked down and with a resignation in her voice said “I’ll get dinner ready.” An unspoken agreement had been made that this was for the best.