He’d come home from his day as usual, knowing that his father had left for India this morning, but only glad for a little freedom for it – a chance to keep an eye on the Cannons in the meantime. That was until finding the letter in his room, nestled under the keys.
His pulse pounding in his head was all he could hear as he read and reread it, each time affording him no more comprehension than the last, even as a tide of anger swelled. It was rushing like a current in his chest as he heard a cry from another room in the house, as he kept the letter clenched in his fist and turned on his heel.
He stormed blindly into the hallway and Veronica met him there: a mirrored expression on her face, perhaps a mirrored letter in her hand. That made it more real than it had been – Theo’s face hardened. “He’s gone,” he said, the words scraping against his throat. “He’s gone.”
(He waited desperately for her to contradict him on this.)
His pulse pounding in his head was all he could hear as he read and reread it, each time affording him no more comprehension than the last, even as a tide of anger swelled. It was rushing like a current in his chest as he heard a cry from another room in the house, as he kept the letter clenched in his fist and turned on his heel.
He stormed blindly into the hallway and Veronica met him there: a mirrored expression on her face, perhaps a mirrored letter in her hand. That made it more real than it had been – Theo’s face hardened. “He’s gone,” he said, the words scraping against his throat. “He’s gone.”
(He waited desperately for her to contradict him on this.)
