Ford's crutch clattered to the floor as he dove towards the fire, but he was too late. He landed in a heap for the second time in ten minutes, earning the stares of everyone in the room.
"Oh, dear!" Grandma fussed at him. "Let us help you up and get you to a chair."
"No," Ford's voice hardened. He put his hands forward and pushed up from the floor, grabbing his crutch and using it to awkwardly get to his feet. He would refuse the help of anyone instrumental in robbing him of his life's great fortune.
These people pretended charity, but they wanted most of all to keep him in his place. To keep him poor and lowly and beneath them. They would be just kind enough to soothe their own consciences, and nothing more.
Other than that, they were just as selfish as every other person on earth.
And he hated them for it.
The children stared at him in shock, and he limped out of the room. Out of the house.
No one followed.
