Irene felt like a child for how she was behaving, but it wasn't fair that her parents were keeping things from her. It felt as if only they didn't see her as an adult, while she had been governing herself as such for the past years, and especially after the war.
If they continued to keep things from her, it wasn't going to make her life easier if she came home every so often only to find her father getting worse. How was she meant to leave at this rate at all or ever stop worrying for him?
"It's only been a couple of days, sweetheart," Rochelle explained, but her voice sounded exhausted through her comforting words. "He collapsed on his way into town. He just needs rest."
But Irene was already gazing at her father's face, silently wondering if he had gotten paler since the last time she saw him.
"My sweet girl," Arthur tried to say, but his last word was punctuated with a cough, causing the wooden bed underneath him to creak.
