He managed a weak smile instead.
But Edgar wasn't finished.
If anything, he was just getting started.
"Dad, rules exist for a reason."
"And to make sure you remember that, you owe us an explanation."
The next second.
Before either of us could react.
He stormed over to the stove, grabbed the pot, and slammed the remaining braised pork straight into the trash can.
Half a pot of meat, just... like that... thrown away like garbage.
My father's eyes went red.
So did mine.
But for different reasons. His were red because he worried I wouldn't be able to eat during my morning sickness. Mine were red from rage.
Edgar talked about rules.
But his mother was the one who'd never followed a single one.
In the three months since she'd moved in, she barged into my bedroom without knocking, helped herself to my skincare, wore my clothes without asking, and took unflattering photos of me no matter how many times I told her to stop.
Every time I lost my temper over it, Edgar's response was the same.
He'd say:
"My mom's getting older. Don't be so petty with her."
"She just used a couple of your things. Is it really that big a deal?"