"Fine. Fine," your father says, not looking at you. "You can get yourself some food come breakfast-time. Understand?"
"I actually was a touch hungry now—oh," you say, realizing.
"Do you understand?"
You nod, grudgingly. You may not fancy your mother's cuisine, but you had been intending to wolf down a plate regardless. Not anymore, I suppose.
He looks into your face with what may be a trace of sadness—then he disappears around the house, off to join the rest of them for dinner.
Onward