CALLEA woke up to the shouting voices reverberate inside the house. She slept well the other night after she took her medicine. She thought she was dreaming at first because she was not used to noise at Villa Celesta. They seldom had visitors at the mansion and they don’t definitely shout like there was a protest rally.
With a throbbing head, she went outside her room to check on the commotion. From the door of the slits of the second floors’ railings, she could see around twenty-five people convening at the living room. “What is your right to blotter our kids? Don’t you know me? I am a town counselor here. I have a brother who is a general in Camp Crame. I can have you arrested. Our kids are still minors. They are still our baby.”
Callea rolled her eyes. It was Counsellor Lira Marcelo
