Kafka's lips twitched helplessly into a small, sheepish smile at the thought of Abigaille's strictness. A nervous chuckle escaped him as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Alright, alright...I won't say it again. I promise." He said softly.
"Good." Olivia let out a sigh of relief and turned back to face the road, her fingers lightly patting his head as if sealing the lesson into place. "That's my good boy. That's a good boy."
Her hand lingered there for a moment, ruffling his hair gently as she smiled.
But behind Kafka's quiet smile, a storm of thoughts churned in his mind.
'She doesn't know...she doesn't know the truth.'
His chest felt tight, almost unbearably so, as he fought back the emotions clawing at the edges of his calm façade.
'I'm not her son...not really. Their real son...he's out there somewhere. Or maybe, maybe he's not. I don't even know if he's alive, or if he's…'
The thought hit him like a blade to the gut, twisting deep.
