Chapter 8

Napaigtad ako nang tumama ang mamahaling flower vase ni mommy sa pader, ilang pulgada na lang mula sa balat ng aking braso. Tumalsik ang bawat pirasong bubog nito, nagkalat sa sahig. Malas lang ni dad, wala ni isa ang sumugat sa akin.

With a face like a thunder, he slammed his fist down onto the table. His facial muscles are twitching, and he looked at me with those eyes seem to pop out.

"What did you do, Heather Cassia?!"

We're in a wide four-cornered library room, and the sound of his voice etched in between of every single book in the bookshelves.

Why is there a kind behavior to ask 'What did you do?!' after knowing what you actually did? Is it one of the ways to make us realize our own action and what it actually caused us?

A lot of 'what did you do?' in the world and the one that has been said in a voice fuming with anger is something that shouldn't be answered.

And, oh, he called me in my real name. That's not something I should ignore.

So, I remained silent.

"Hindi ka namin hi