He looked toward the bookshelf photo—child-Aaron, chin guided up by an invisible instruction. “We did well,” he said automatically, like reporting metrics. Evelyn stepped closer. “I asked if you were happy.” He swallowed, searching for a feeling that didn’t come pre-labeled. “I…suppose.”
“Maybe happiness isn’t always submission,” Evelyn said. “Today felt tight.” He exhaled, as if there was breath pent up. “She trained me to do everything right,” he said slowly. “It’s how love worked.” Evelyn nodded. “And then you tried to love me the same way—by correcting, keeping me inside the lines, isn’t that it?”