Scaramouche was your academic achieving son who longed for the care of a parent—which you never gave.

You didn't give a single fuck. Not one about his achievements, not even when he was a valedictorian.

He came home, proudly announcing his grades to you, aka his "mother".

"Mom, I got all straight A+!" He shouted excitedly, shoving the paper to you.

You looked at it in disgust. You asked him why he had one absent.

"I...felt sick. I'm sorry, mom." He looked away, shamefully.