Frank kept a straight face, but it wasn't like that meant much anymore. If everything he was telling him was true, his son had been maintaining a perfect poker face for years. It was a little disheartening, really, to now suddenly worry if the looks of excitement or gratitude after Christmas gifts and offerings of praise had only been conjured expressions.
But none of this was fair, of course. He had new information on his son, but that didn't mean his son was a new person. He had raised Frank, had helped cultivate his sense of the world, and he would always be his son. He would always know Frank in a way that Frank possibly couldn't know himself. Neville was grieving but it was not because the person he knew was gone - it was because the person he knew had become a grown up, and Neville had been one of the millions of parents to hope against hope that it wouldn't actually happen.
But how many of those parents actually had children who admitted their demons to them, who told the hard secrets, who insisted on honesty, even if it was after the fact?
Neville sighed. "I don't mean to sound... judgmental. It's just... when I was your age, I had a very strict view of right and wrong, and as I've gotten older, I've come to understand that it can be more complicated than that. I also worry with... with my past, and your mother's, and our... families... that you feel..." he searched for the word. "Obligated to be something. And I hope you know that all I want, and all your mother wants, is for you to be safe and happy."