Frederick trudged through the front door, his parents' concerned faces greeting him like a punch to the gut. The warm glow of the chandelier above illuminated the worried creases on their foreheads. "Hey, son, how are you doing?" Henry asked, his brow furrowed as he set his glass of scotch on the coffee table.
Frederick shook his head, feeling like he'd been turned upside down. "I don't know, Dad. I just don't understand why Stacey acted like that." He collapsed onto the plush couch, running his hands through his disheveled hair.
Louisa's eyes dimmed with worry as she placed a comforting hand on Frederick's arm. "Let's sit down and talk about it, dear." She gestured to the couch, and Henry settled in beside her, his eyes never leaving Frederick's face.
"What's there to talk about? Those people must have done something to her, or said something." Frederick lamented. "She looked at me like I am the enemy."
