I'm having lunch with my parents but the food is just passing down my throat. I can't even savor the taste because my mind doesn't seem to want to focus on the food.
I can feel my mother's eyes on me and I'm sure she knows that there's something on my mind. Thankfully, my Dad has been on a phone call and he's not focusing on me like my Mom is.
All my trouble revolves around the diary tucked inside my jacket. I thought I will have enough courage to talk to my parents but after coming here, I'm completely indecisive on whether to bring it out and show it to them or not.
My Dad looks like he's in a good mood. I will hate to see that smile of his turning to hurt and bitterness because of me.
I hold the fork and stab another piece of meat on the plate. When I hear the chair creaks, I look a
