He looked at the man who had cast him out, and he corrected the record, plainly, because it was true and it needed saying.

That is not a burden a child should carry.

But my son carried it, when it was thrust upon him, without dropping it, and I will be proud of that until the day I die.

Arthur’s jaw worked.

“I was trying to teach you,” he said finally, “that actions have consequences.” But the words were hollow now, even to him, I think, spoken into a hallway where the actual consequences of his own actions lay bandaged in a hospital bed.

Chapter 13 — Seven Degrees