His father finished the eggs and put them on some buttered toast he’d also made,
setting down two plates, one for Conor, one for himself. They sat and they ate.
The silence grew so heavy, Conor started to have difficulty breathing.
“That’s quite a mess you made,” his father finally said.
Conor continued to eat, taking the smallest bites of egg possible.
“She called me this morning. Very, very early.” Conor took another microscopic bite.
“Your mum’s taken a turn, Con,” his father said. Conor looked up quickly.
“Your grandma’s gone to the hospital now to talk to the doctors,” his father continued.
“I’m going to drop you off at school–” “School?” Conor said.
“I want to see Mum!” But his father was already shaking his head.
“It’s no place for a kid right now. I’ll drop you off at school and go to the hospital,
but I’ll pick you up right after and take you to her.”
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