I am amused by my father's quiet puttering about in his new home, fussing with kitchenware he is unaccustomed to handling. I have never seen him cook before.
The comm chimes; he takes the call with evident relief. In his absence I continue his soup preparation.
His tone rises abruptly, sharp and angry. "I will have no more of this discussion."
Then silence, as abruptly.
I stop chopping the plomeek. When I find my father he is as upset as I have ever seen him. "Samekh?"
He turns away. "Inconceivable."
Sarek, too, then: under pressure to accept a Vulcan bondmate.