Beds of flowers -- roses, tulips, and lilies -- spread out like a painter's palette, while a clear blue sky stretched overhead. Yet amidst this beauty, the air between Charles and Anya was anything but serene.
Charles lit a cigar, the faint flicker of flame and the first puff of smoke marking the start of a conversation neither truly wanted to have.
Anya: "He's at that age, Charles. You know how boys are..."
Charles exhaled a cloud of smoke, his expression cold.
Charles: "He's been 'at that age' every year since he was thirteen, Anya. How much longer are you going to use the same tired excuse?"
Anya's lips tightened, but she didn't respond.
Charles: "What that boy needs is discipline. Discipline which, apparently, you were unable to instill in him."
Anya's head snapped up, her voice sharp.
Anya: "Me? How can you even say that? You're barely home, Charles! Raising a child on my own is an impossible task."
Charles chuckled, low and humorless.
Charles: "On your own? Surely you jest. What about the maids, the butlers, the instructors? Are they of no help? Or do you prefer to paint yourself the martyr?"
Anya's voice rose, tinged with frustration.
Anya: "It's not the same, and you know it! He needs his father. No amount of servants can replace you, Charles. No amount of money can fill that void."
Charles leaned back in his chair, puffing his cigar thoughtfully.
Charles: "Don't be so dramatic, Anya."
Anya: "It's the truth!"
Charles: "The truth,"
He said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Charles: "is that you're too soft. How can the boy learn responsibility when all he sees his mother doing is reading and painting? And yet you criticize him for caring only about swordfighting. Please, Anya."
Anya's hands balled into fists.
Anya: "That's not fair, Charles."
Charles: "The unfairness lies in raising a boy on delusional principles. There's more to life than indulging in hobbies."
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Anya's voice trembled, but she stood her ground.
Anya: "Stop talking like you know everything! Don't you think I know that? I'm the one keeping this house running while you're off playing savior to the family fortune!"
Charles raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but cutting.
Charles: "If you understand that, then why allow him to waste his time? Why let him spend hours with that sword instead of doing what's necessary?"
Anya: "Because I won't rob him of his passion, Charles! Never! I know what that does to a person. My own husband is proof of that. You've sacrificed everything -- your family, your friends, the things you used to love -- for what? To chase this so-called 'duty' of yours?"
Charles's jaw tightened, his irritation flaring.
Charles: "Watch your mouth, Anya. If not for me, this family would have fallen into ruin long ago. Do you think the sacrifices I've made are easy? I've given up plenty to ensure our survival."
Anya placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice softening.
Anya: "But why, Charles? Why would we fall apart? Do you really think we'd crumble if you worked less? So what if we had fewer servants or a smaller estate? I'd gladly live with less if it meant you were here more. Your son needs you. I need you."
Charles shrugged her hand off, his tone turning colder.
Charles: "Don't speak of what you don't understand. Duty reigns above all else. Without it, everything collapses -- everything. This is the principle our son needs to learn if he's to have any hope of a good life. Do you understand that, Anya?"
Anya rose abruptly from her seat, her voice shaking with anger.
Anya: "Then tell him that yourself!"
She turned to leave, but Charles's voice stopped her.
Charles: "Anya, wait."
She hesitated, her back still to him.
Charles: "Are you happy?"
Anya spun around, fury flashing in her eyes.
Anya: "How dare you ask me that?"
Charles: "Your morals center on the pursuit of happiness, do they not? You fill your days with your passions, your art. This life I've given you allows for that. So, answer me -- are you happy?"
Her voice dropped, trembling with suppressed emotion.
Anya: "You know damn well I'm not. And it has nothing to do with painting or reading."
Charles: "Quite the opposite. You claim to have duties, but they're trivial. Real duty isn't a jumble of side activities you do because you must. Real duty consumes you. It gives meaning to everything else. Without it, there's no foundation for happiness, no purpose."
He stood, his presence towering over her.
Charles: "Because you raised our son with your shallow values, he now lives a hollow life. He toys with girls' hearts, neglects his studies, and cares only for his base desires. That is the direct result of your teachings. Am I to shoulder blame in this, too? Of course, undeniably... Had I been more present, then I would ensure he would not be led astray by you. But if you were a good enough parent, you would have been able to single-handedly avoid turning our son into the mess he's become..."
Anya's voice erupted, raw and unfiltered.
Anya: "SHUT UP!"
Her chest heaved as she glared at him.
Anya: "I'm tired of this! This isn't how our life was supposed to be! Look at what we've become! I never even wanted a child -- I did it for you! You promised we'd raise him together, but you abandoned us. You abandoned me. And for what? To chase your precious 'duty'? What duty could be greater than raising your own son?"
Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes.
Anya: "I'd forsake this mansion and our servants with it if it meant you'd actually be here... But you won't. You're so wrapped up in your pride that you've forgotten what really matters."
Charles clenched his fists, his face unreadable.
Charles: "You don't understand..."
Anya wiped her eyes before the tears could fall, her voice now cold.
Anya: "You're right. Completely. I don't understand, it is true. I can't possibly. But I'll tell you this, Charles -- I'm done. I'm done trying. I'm done being the one who does all the work in raising our boy, I'm done being the one who keeps everyone in check around here. If you get to do as you please, then so do I. The boy can fuck all the maids in the world and set fire to the damn house for all I care."
She turned to leave again.
Charles: "Anya, surely you don't mean that...!"
Anya stopped, glancing over her shoulder.
Anya: "Do you doubt me...? Then sit back and watch. If you think I've been doing a bad job, you haven't seen anything yet."
The resolution in her words shook something within him. Charles felt like she wasn't bluffing, and so he yielded.
Charles: "Wait! I'll... I'll try. I'll be more present. Just give me time. There are matters I must take care of first."
Anya: "You have one week, Charles. If you don't change, then you can sit back and watch this family fall apart."
Her voice broke slightly.
Anya: "But don't expect me to care anymore."
She walked away, leaving Charles alone in the garden. He sank back into his chair, puffing on his cigar as the vibrant flowers around him seemed dull in comparison to the weight on his mind.
Charles (to himself): "You've fucked up, Charles. Caught between a rock and a hard place, now..."