60. The fasnion show

My father raised his hand in the air to stop my black thoughts from creating wicked scenarios of what might have happened to my mother.

“No, she is okay, Alice. But she left again.” He furrowed his eyebrows at me in a sympathetic manner.

“She left? Where?” I responded, almost like a whisper, feeling my throat dry up like a hot desert.

“Um, I don’t know. I just wanted you to hear it from me, instead of some random teacher at school.” He announced, caressing his bald head. “About the videos--the person was wearing black clothes, gloves, a sweatshirt with a hood, and his or her face was wrapped in a black scarf. I couldn’t really see anything that would help me discover who it was. Sorry, Alice, I have brought you only bad news.”