It has been three days after my Mum talked to Dr. Conrad about my Dad's test results. She told me everything went well, nothing to be worried. But the look on her eyes tells me that she's leaving something behind. I don't want to corner her and interrogate her, but I'm nearly halfway there.
I just can't shrug off the feeling that something's always not right. She's keeping things from me, and even though I hate it, I do still doubt her.
"I think I should left work and focus on taking care of Dad," I took my dad's hand to mine. Entwining our fingers. The warmth of his hand is what I always miss.
"Darling, that's unnecessary," my Mom said.
"Yes, sweetheart. You don't have to," my Dad said, gently squeezing my hand. To be honest, he looks fragile than ever before. His face got even slim
