The Devil's Good Girl

"Filly, why didn't you tell us you'd come home? I would've made you your favorite food!" A woman, who was in her mid-forties, couldn't stop herself from scolding her only daughter while in the kitchen. "That's right, Fil. You should've at least told your brother," the man of the house, sitting on the head seat of the table, nodded in agreement. "But either way, I'm glad you were able to come home."

Fil warmly smiled back at her father.

"Sis, I know you're getting scolded, but I'm doing most of the work here," Elijah, who was setting up the table with Fil, complained. "Can you move a little faster?"

"Eli, give your big sister a break. She drove all the way here with that old truck." Their father clicked his tongue, earning a deeper frown from their youngest. "Don't mind him, Fil. He's in puberty and has been grumpy."

"Eli, are you giving mom and dad a headache?"

"Oh, goodness! Not just a headache, but hypertension!" Their mother in the kitchen yelled, unbothered by her task of making dinner to join in the conversation.

"Eli..." Fil squinted her eyes at her little brother, but Elijah avoided her gaze.

"Well, you used to be a headache as well." Their father, Simon, waved dismissively. "It's a good day, so we'll let Eli off."

"This is why he is becoming more and more mischievous!" Irene, Fil's mother, came into the dining room with a pot in her hands. She carefully placed the pot in the middle of the table, casting her husband a look of disbelief. "I can't believe you."

"Eli, look at what you're doing. Mom and Dad are fighting because of you." Fil quipped, making Elijah roll his eyes.