“Walter,” his mother whispered as she opened his door. She hadn’t entered his bedroom in years. He cringed as he awaited more of her wrath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, sitting down gracefully on the edge of his bed. “It wasn’t your fault; I’m sorry I hit you.”
He puckered his lips and sniffed as he attempted to retain the tears, “It’s okay, Mom, it was my fault; everything was my fault.”
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