Clash of Hearts
“Are you my child, Hugo?”
“I-I am, Father,” I would then say with all the remaining courage I could muster.
“Then why are you a loser?” With that, he would turn his back on me. “Very much unlike your brother.” With that, he would walk away. I would remain standing there, dead on my tracks, my head stubbornly bowed down. Because I am sure that by the time my head snap up, those pair of eyes would be looking at me. The pair of eyes that are very much like mine. The eyes of my own brother, piercing through me, and not in a comforting way. He wins again, and I would walk away defeated.
Bab Populer