...

When I open my still-hurting eyes, I find myself lying on Mom's hospital bed. She's seated by me, a magazine in her hands. She casually flips pages until she notices me yawning. "It's breezy all day long," she says.

I sit straight and then look at her but still lost in thoughts. "Yeah. Good morning," I say before getting off the bed. I sit down on a stool and then smell a strong aroma — coffee. I turn my head around and eventually see the trail of smoke, leading my eyes to two cups of coffee on the table.

"Take one, sweetheart," Mom orders.

I obey. It's coffee. Everything caffeinated is life nowadays. As warmth goes down my freezing insides, satisfaction is what I feel. Coffee really makes me pleased.

"Good, isn't it?" Mom queries.

I nod in agreement. It's coffee, so it has to be good.

"Just give me the signal if you're comfortable already to talk about it, the reason that made you sob last night," she says, reaching for her cup.

"How did I get onto your bed?" I change the topic unint