i could've been anyone, anyone else

At age ten, my father caught me holding hands with a boy. He was merely my close friend, mind you, and he had just fallen and I was hefting him off the ground, but my father doesn’t listen to reason. He raised his hand against me that day, yet all that occupied my thought was that I had his attention at last. Afterward, he forbade me from companionship, believing my attachments would lead me to weakness and perversion. I did not understand his words then, but I felt his piercing gaze upon my back like I had indulged in some shameful vice.

I wonder if it was then he began to fear for me.

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or, Jane's son and his life after the death of his mother.