was going to come home, so I greeted him at his flat, but his tired expression also awakened the
motherly instinct inside me.
"Sherry, Frasier?" I offer.
He silently accepts the glass, but starts crying momentarily.
Words don't really mean much now, so I simply hold him until he calms down.
He then opened his lips, and told me about his hard day at work, and how much he loathes how our
father sometimes ridicules us.
The best that I can do at the moment is to soothe and pacify him.
He whimpers like a child; he wanted to sleep in his own bed.
I gently lead him by the hand to his bed, and cover him up in his sheets and blankets.
I didn't want to leave him alone, so I took out a sleeping bag from his room, and set it aside the bed.
I hope he will be all right tomorrow...
"Sweet dreams..." we both mumbled.