Michael sat on the floor, the foot of his bedside, hugging his knees and squirming his toes. He felt horrible. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his belly.
This was why he didn't want to face his mother. And after hearing how she talked and acted today, how she didn't care about his words a single bit, he began to ask himself if the notion that he believed was actually a fabricated story he told himself every day in order to get by in that family.
Had his parents indeed loved him at some point, and he believed? Had they ever taken his interest to heart even once? Or was that all just nonsense he made himself believe because he needed some kind of placebo treatment?
Since they never raised their hands on him or insulted him in his face, he was able to delude himself long enough, even when it was clear that they only ever did what was best for Mark and paid attention to him afterwards. That is... If Mark ever allowed them to.
