Few weeks have passed since Hanz died and my mother was never the same when my father died. She wouldn’t stop crying and she insisted on wearing her mourning outfit. She couldn’t eat properly and she just wanted to be alone most of the time.
She failed to report to work for several days and the club was being neglected. The club used to her happy pill but it seemed that Hanz had taken over its place over time. “Mom, get a grip of yourself!” I scolded her when she kept on refusing to eat her food. She has been acting differently since he was gone and I could only grit my teeth for what happened to her.
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” she muttered. “It’s you, right?”
My eyes narrowed at her because I didn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. “What about me?”
“You killed him, di
