Chapter Eighty Three: Perhaps it was too soon to poke the scar.
“what?” was all I could say. I was shook by his courage and how adamant and sure he looked.
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I followed my instinct and chose the kitchen to show him first, which, because of my mother’s pretentious nature, was spick and span with not even a thing out of place. There was very little to see but I had promised to give him a quick tour of the house and the kitchen was part and parcel.
“Well, this is where my dearest mother prepared the meal! Although you must have no interest in a thing in here!” I joked before ending the short trip to the kitchen by pulling him by the arm and leading him to the living room.
Family photos and my father’s collection of books was his greatest attraction in the room and by the
