Everything is normal. I have a good life. I grew up without a mother, but I am still contented with my father who devotes himself in his work and for being my father. That’s why I grew up admiring my father. I looked up to him so much that everything he does means so much to me.
“Ronald…” my father called me one fine afternoon. I just went out of my room, just finished the new science book that my father bought me yesterday.
“What?” I asked and come to him. He was sitting on our couch in the living room while holding a newspaper.
“What are you doing in your room?” he asked. My brows furrowed.
“I just finished reading the book that you bought me yesterday,” I said. He sighed heavily. Like it’s been his problem all along.
“That’s why I don’t want to buy you books. You always lock y