Andrews Anger

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of uneasy tension. Timothy and I eventually got dressed and made our way downstairs, hoping to talk things out with Andrew. However, as soon as we entered the living room, it was clear that the atmosphere had changed drastically.

Andrew was seated on the couch, staring intently at the television but clearly not watching it. The moment he saw us, his jaw tightened, and he quickly looked away. Anne was in the kitchen, her eyes flicking between us with concern, and our mother, Ina, was bustling around, preparing breakfast.

"Morning," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I approached the table. Timothy gave me a supportive nod and followed.

Andrew didn't respond. He just continued to stare at the TV, his body language screaming avoidance.

"Good morning, dear," Mom said, turning to us with a smile. "Did you boys sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah, we did," I replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Mom."

I glanced at Andrew again, hoping for any sign that he mig