One week later:
.....
Dominic sat at the dining table like a man dragged into a room he did not ask for. The cutlery glimmered under the chandelier, but he had no appetite for any of it.
His plate was untouched, his posture was loose but also rigid in its own right. It was a calm that was too sharp to mistake for comfort.
Across from him, Jim ate like he hadn't seen food in days. He stuffed his mouth, which caused his jaw working like an animal's own.
Oil ran slick against the edge of his lips. Every motion was loud, deliberate, and a mockery. He chewed and chewed, swallowed, and then spoke with the kind of mouth that didn't know shame.
"Except for saving my grandchild, all you've done is humiliate me," he said, words muffled through meat. His knife screeched against the porcelain as he hacked another piece, shoving it between his teeth.
