Because I'm Not Kind

Cyril Ashley was a man who always stood straight, gazed ahead with sharp eyes, and walked with his chest out and his head held high.

But now he was hunched over, his face so pale he looked close to death as he paced in circles through the West Wing corridor. He was already on his third lap.

Just as his feet went around and around the corridor, his thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.

His mind was consumed by the words of the maid-clad woman he had just encountered—Gale Lin.

(I... have feelings for Monica? The way she put it, that sounds almost like...)

—Love.

Every time Cyril reached that conclusion, the blood drained from his face.

(No. I can't. I can't do that.)

Memories of his childhood came to mind.

Whenever he saw his father hurling insults at his mother, he would think, Why can't you be kind to Mother...