When my father came home drunk and beat my mom, I felt like beating him like pulp.
But my mother, a pious catholic that she was, never allowed me to.
And I would bring out this anger at the punching pag at the gym.
Then one day my mother decided to talk…talk for the last time…about divorcing my mother.
It came as a shock to me as well. However, I felt happy for mom. She had suffered a lot.
A few years later my father succumbed to blood cancer. None of us cried, although we attended his funeral.
Today my father is not much than a nightmare.
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