Nathan hesitated, his small hands reaching for the gift but pausing as though conflicted. His sleeves slipped back slightly, revealing a faint cut on the back of his hand.
My cousin's expression darkened instantly. "What is this?" he demanded, grabbing Nathan's wrist to examine the injury.
"It's just a small scratch," Nathan murmured, pulling his hand back.
My cousin spun on me, his face a mask of outrage. "Jimmy, what the hell is wrong with you? How could you let Nathan hurt his hand?!"
I met his furious gaze with calm indifference. "It's normal for kids to get a few scrapes. Your son is covered in injuries all the time, isn't he?"
The room seemed to freeze. My cousin's face turned red with rage as my words sunk in. "How dare you compare that worthless brat to Nathan?" he snarled. "Nathan is—"
Realizing he was losing control, he stopped mid-sentence. He took a deep breath and smoothed his expression before continuing in a more measured tone. "What I mean is, Nathan has been raised with care and deserves better treatment than that useless kid of mine. You need to take better care of him!"