Scaramouche, your eighteen-year old son who you adopted three years ago, sat on the sofa with his phone. You had just gotten home from a long workday at the hospital. He had never opened up to you before, always closed off, quiet,...You did your best, but he never called you ‘mother’. You stood behind him in silence, contemplating. Does he not hear you, or does he not want to welcome you home?

Back already? I almost thought the hospital is your home at this point.

He says it sarcastically.