My father’s anger reached a boiling point, his face turning a deep shade of red as he shouted, “Jenifer, remember, these kids are Debra’s offspring. She’s a witch, and her kids must inherit her power.
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For our safety, they all must be locked up!”
“Have you lost your mind, Patrick?” My mother’s face showed shock and disbelief. “How could you even think of harming innocent children?”
My father ignored her, his attention fixed on Elena and Dylan, who were sobbing, and said sternly, “I’m taking these two with me today, no matter what. Jenifer, step aside!”
๊งเผโฌ๐๐ฎ๐ช๐ป๐๐ธ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ต๐ผ.๐๐ธ๐ถโฌเผ๊ง
But my mother stood her ground, unmoved.
My father was boiling with anger. He lifted his hand once more, like he was about to strike my mother again.
“Stop!” I quickly stepped in to prevent my father from going any further. Shoving him back, I demanded with frustration, “What’s gotten into you?”
A shadow of gloom and madness passed over his usually insightful eyes, causing my heart to sink.
It was the first time I witnessed such a frosty and agitated side of him. He looked at me as if he were looking at an enemy.
I couldn’t hide my irritation. With a scowl, I asked him, “Why must you reject everything Debra has accomplished, simply because she’s a witch?”
His face twisted with anger, almost looking dangerous.
Without missing a beat, he said, “A witch will always be a witch.
Her children too. They’re all evil!”
Caleb’s POV:
A sense of bewilderment clouded my expression as I gazed at my father.
I couldn’t understand. When had he transformed into this stubborn and irrational figure before me?
My disappointment and anger surfaced, and I found myself uttering, “How can you be so inflexible? You seem blind to the line between right and wrong.”
“Inflexible?” My father seemed almost amused, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. Yet, the amusement evaporated quickly, replaced by a cold reprimand. “Caleb, this is on you!”
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Pointing an accusatory finger at me, he roared, “History vividly recounts what transpired with the witches and our ancestors. But what have you done?”
His eyes ablaze, his voice trembling with intensity, he continued, “You reap the benefits of an era, the peace, and the soil our forebears paid for with their blood. And yet, you stand upon their bones, advocating for forgiveness towards those abominable witches.
How can you accuse me of inflexibility? It’s absurd!”
Stunned, I struggled to find a retort, grappling with my own speechlessness.
I had poured my heart out in the church, attempting to explain my perspective. But his mind seemed clouded by the age-old hatred between our races.
After a moment, I clenched my fists and ground my teeth. “I’ve told you that history may not be as it seems. When I faced death in the foggy forest, I encountered Rick. He didn’t delve into specifics due to time constraints, but he expressed regret and implored me to rectify his mistakes. It’s evidence enough that the history of the witches may be more complex than we’ve been led to believe.”
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