Finnick probably saw me making that call on the staircase.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into the dining room. But I didn't know how to explain things, so I simply said, "It's just something from work. Nothing important."
I wasn't trying to hide my mother's condition from him.
I just didn't know how to say it.
If I told him my mother was seriously ill and I needed money for her treatment, it would sound like I was asking him for help. Like I was demanding money from him.
Even though we were married, and even though I had slowly started relying on him in small ways, I still couldn't bring myself to show that kind of weakness.
Maybe it was a habit I had learned since childhood.
My mother always told me that no matter how people mocked me for being fatherless or called me an illegitimate child, I must never show weakness. I must never let others laugh at my pain.
Finnick noticed the way my gaze shifted.
