“But that is not going to help. The rage, the sheer helplessness at his cool demeanour, plus the facts that he has so calmly and clearly stated act as catalysts, and I explode, giving vent to the fury that has been swelling inside me and that I have been trying to contain. I fling his report card across the bedroom and his answer papers neatly stacked inside it go flying and scatter all across the room. ‘You … you fool. I struggle so much to raise you well and now this…’ I am unable to complete the sentence. He calmly picks up the report card and stacks all the answer sheets neatly inside. Then he hands me a bottle of water. I breathe in and out deeply and glug some down. He is fifteen going on twenty-five. ‘Ma, I have told you so many times,’ his voice is gentle,”