At his father's remark, Wesley felt a sharp pang in his heart. Failed. Failure. How often he'd heard that word when he'd been growing up and hadn't done something to his standards. After leaving England, the whole situation surrounding his dismissal from the Council being the last straw, he had thought he'd finally left all that behind. He had found something he was good at. He had found friends. He had found a wonderful woman and had a beautiful child. He had found a deep friendship and love with the man who had formerly been antagonistic toward him. Without his father there to constantly berate him, he had finally found his place.
And now he was there, doing what he had always done, and Wesley felt like he was seven years old again, sitting in the cupboard under the stairs, doing lines and wishing his sister hadn't died.
Before he could say anything, though, Fred was defending him, telling his father to get out if he couldn't be nice. He wanted to tell her that it was all right, that it wasn't worth it to get like that with him, but the moment he put insulted her, Wesley felt his anger rising.
"You heard her," he said, stepping forward. "You will not come into my house and insult my wife. We left for a reason, and we certainly not going to stay just so we could be there to please you."
"You never pleased me."
"That much was certain," Wesley said. "Get out."
Roget stood there for a moment before walking over to the door and opening it. He looked back at the three of them before leaving, slamming the door behind him. Once he was gone, Wesley felt himself stumble back onto the staircase, sitting down hard.