Jefferson sits across from you, his hands interlocked and perched on the kitchen table.

“So, recently, it’s come to my attention that I may have not have been as good a dad as I thought I was.” He starts, scrubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

This is two-hundred damage to his ego right now.

The only reason he’s noticed is because his friend pointed it out at a get-together last weekend. You’re mopey now, but maybe he’s never realized if you weren’t mopey.

“So, I’m sorry.” He finishes with apprehension.