What was that?!

  I need to know what’s going on… and I know the best way.

  He burst into tears.

  A few seconds later, his mother rushed into the room and picked him up, gently rocking him in her arms to calm him down.

  Moments later, his father entered.

  He looked pale. Angry.

  He started shouting at his mother. Even though Kaile couldn’t understand the words, the tone was enough.

  His father’s voice trembled with rage.

  His mother’s face carried sorrow.

  And Kaile could tell—it wasn’t the kind of anger born from cruelty. His father didn’t seem abusive.

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  It was something else.

  Something painful.

  Kaile’s Father:

  “adjnanfuiauabfhc—” (incomprehensible language)

  (How many times do I have to tell you?! Don’t open that damned closet! Even if it’s for cleaning! I—I don’t want to remember those memories… the fate I shared with my father… and the fate he will share with me…)

  Kaile’s Mother:

  “fdaiafhwues—” (incomprehensible language)

  (I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to clean it…)

  Their voices overlapped, tense and strained, as if something terrible had resurfaced.

  While they argued, Kaile felt an uncomfortable feeling—an unease he couldn’t explain.

  He finally got a good look at his father.

  A bearded man with several scars across his face.

  Broad-shouldered, sturdy like brick.

  One wooden leg.

  In his left hand, he held a crutch.

  Where his right arm should have been, there was only empty cloth tied neatly at the shoulder.

  He wore a leather vest and simple, worn clothing.

  Kaile stared.

  Why was his father missing limbs?

  Several possibilities came to mind.

  None of them comforting.

  After the argument, he began to wonder:

  What was in that closet that could push such a man into such a despair and rage?