And then, right in front of me, he kicked Rowan squarely in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor. Rowan hit his head on the edge of the coffee table with a sickening thud. A bright crimson streak immediately began trickling down his forehead.
Nathan gasped, dropping his action figure. He scooted back instinctively, his wide eyes darting between Rowan and his uncle.
But Rowan didn't cry. He never cried. He shakily pushed himself up, his movements mechanical and resigned. With trembling hands, he touched his bleeding forehead, smearing blood across his pale skin. Then he bowed slightly to his father, his voice barely audible. "Sorry, Dad. I know I was wrong."
It was a scene I had seen far too many times. Rowan's apology after a beating had become so routine that it now felt rehearsed.
Hana hurried into the room, carrying the first-aid kit. Her expression was stormy as she knelt beside Rowan, gently cleaning his wound. "How can you treat your own child like this, Cousin?" she demanded, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "No matter how wrong he is, he's still your son. Don't you feel any pity for him?"