" Stop there.” For the first time since Nora had left, Raphael spoke. Frank had been about to make another lunge, but thought better of it. His son was pointing a ten-inch carving blade at a point just below his chest. The bevel had recently been sharpened. “You little son-of-a-bitch, put that down.” But Frank didn’t move. “You aren’t hitting me anymore,” said Raphael distinctly. “You know that, don’t you?” “Boy, you got any idea what they do to a kid who runs through his own father? It don’t look good, Ralph. You don’t just get a slap on the wrist and a pat on the ass.” Still, Frank didn’t move. “You aren’t hitting me anymore,” Raphael repeated. “Go upstairs. Don’t come down.” Now, Frank had read his share of tabloids, and this scene in the kitchen must have looked like eerily familiar front-page material. When Raphael took a step forward then, leading with the tip of the blade, Frank took a step back, though this kid "

― Lionel Shriver , The Female of the Species