ANASTASIA FERRARI
Dewald and I are both quiet in my bedroom, but the atmosphere is so thick in the room you’d want to use a knife to cut it. We arrived home thirty minutes ago and when everyone started asking what was happening; where my husband is, I ran upstairs to our bedroom and found my kids peacefully sleeping. I wonder how they managed all of them to sleep on one bed, including Beverly. This is a first.
Dewald clears his throat, reminding me that he is still in the room with me. We did not say a word to each other since and I actually don’t feel like talking because the only person in my mind is my husband who could be dead. If he dies, what am I going to tell our children? Would I even want to go back to Italy… what for?
Dewald clears his throat again and this time I am forced
