I slowly got down the stairs and walked into the living room. Mum was having her morning coffee, sitting on the single couch, looking sad and exhausted.
She heard me enter but she didn't spare me a glance.
“Good morning, Mum,” I mumbled. She didn't answer. And she still hasn't spared me a glance.
The cold treatment wasn't all wrong, judging from how last night went between us.
She gave me more slaps, yelled at me, and almost crucified me. Literally. I've never been so manhandled but I couldn't get mad at her because I believe I deserved it. That was the price I had to pay for doing dirty deeds.
Dad didn't come over. I was low-key relieved that he didn't. If he'd hit me too, I wasn't sure how I'd take it. He's never hit me all my life. And if he did last night, it might have left
