Strangely, I felt a bit out of breathe after the English man was gone.
I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t.

I clumsily staggered, my legs wobbling, over to the couch, and just dropped down.
As I sprawled on the sofa, my mind replayed memories of that day.
They including my father putting his hand on my shoulder, and when his eyes met mine as if to promise somehow that things would be okay.
As if!
My eyelids had trouble staying open, and I soon drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep.
A little while later, when I awoke, I felt my dad press a cool cloth to my forehead.
I opened my eyes, and said groggily,

“What happened….”

“It’s all good, honey. Just rest for now,”
was his tranquil response. I groaned. When I regained my strength, I sat up suddenly and rolled off the sofa. Maintaining my balance, I went to find my father. He was in the kitchen.

“What the hell was that all about???!!!!!”

I screamed at him.

“How could you have hid something like that from me?” I questioned.