NINETY-THREE.

TWO WEEKs LATER.

It's been two weeks since I got the news that Dad's organs were failing him. Doctor Cameron said he must have caught a viral infection from the black mould that stains the ceiling in the hallway of our home.

After he finished informing me of his prediction, he wore this expression that shouted:

'I told you so'

He never said it, but I knew he was thinking it, and I felt foolish for not taking his advice and letting my pride get the better of me.

My father's health rapidly deteriorated the day I returned from Alessandros’ following a night of wicked activities for which my father is now suffering the consequence.

If I had known what I do now, I would have done things differently. I wouldn't have brought my father back home, and I wouldn't have slept with Alessandro that ruinous night.

I used to believe that my trust in my religion was as razor-sharp as two chains joined, impenetrable, indestructible, and invincible.

But now my beliefs are dormant, and I'm qui