"I stopped," he confirmed, almost too quickly, but he seemed to be talking to the book Errol had handed to him more than he was answering the question. And then I shot Father and brought the world to ruin.
"I stopped the morning after you died. Though I wish I hadn't, at times." He closed the book with a small smile and lowered his head, swallowing as if he could swallow the small admission back once he'd said them. Life had been easier on Prozium. Existing was easy. Living, on the other hand...
"I'm worried about my children." He could announce the fact with a schooled, controlled expression. He looked painfully numb for a father who's never actually worried about his children, who doesn't know how or where to channel that anxiety or why he even has to contend with the anxiety.