As Elian's upbeat nature dropped for the first time, Vyan tried to analyze the sudden shift in him.
"I do," he murmured, staring at his lap. "But I don't think Daddy feels the same way."
"What do you mean by that?"
Elian sank down on the couch, his head lowered and his voice quiet. "I heard Daddy once telling Mommy in their bedroom that he feels like she doesn't give him enough time, that she's always either busy with work or me or Amy."
"When did you hear that?" he inquired.
"I think it was a month ago?"
"Did your dad sound mad?"
He shook his head. "No, he just sounded really hurt." Then, he sighed dramatically, as if he were a tired eighty-year-old man. "Then again, Daddy has always been like that. He really likes Mommy's attention. And if he doesn't get that for a long time, he throws a tantrum."
Vyan felt attacked.
He could see himself in the future acting like this—so childish and still so obsessive after ten years.
