Jimmy's POV
As a child, I'd always craved something soft and cuddly—a stuffed animal to clutch during those endless, lonely nights.
I remember sneaking out once to buy one, but my father discovered it.
He tore the plush toy to pieces right in front of me, his voice cold as ice: "You don't need this garbage. You're nothing but a tool—your sole purpose is keeping your mother around."
A tool. That's all I was to him. Tools don't get to want comfort.
During those years when most kids treasure their stuffed animals, I had nothing. By the time I finally escaped his control, I'd convinced myself I was beyond caring about such things.
Evelin stayed silent, clearly processing what I'd revealed, searching for the deeper meaning in my words.
She must have realized that if I was past the age for wanting those things, I must have desperately wanted them once.
