The following day, I wake up to the smell of bacon and omelets. Here’s to my wanting to prepare breakfast for my parents.
I leave my modest room and go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. And it isn’t long before I am sitting at the kitchen table while dad is busy at the stove.
“Good morning, dad,” I greet him on a yawn.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he tells me right back, not missing a beat.
I look at him, only just noticing how much weight he lost, and it is nearly enough to bring tears to my eyes.
I try to remain collected though. Ugly heavy crying? How about no? I don’t want to let him see me in such a state… not as long as I can help it at least.
He resumes humming and then places breakfast on the table.
“Your mom isn’t awake yet?” He asks instead of stating it
