Two Wrongs Don’t make a right

Two wrongs don’t make a right or whatever they say.

My father was seated in front of the cab with the driver as I held my son tightly, my mind racing all over the place trying to connect the dots of the new truth that had surfaced.

If this man really was my father, did that mean my mom lied to me?

Had she intended to tell me the truth before her untimely death?”

And now, wasn’t I doing the same thing with Marvin?

The cab came to a halt. I looked up and saw a cozy bungalow protected by a short fence.

It looked good enough for me to start a new life with my son.

I stepped down, grateful that the driver helped with my luggage.

I lodged in the key I had gotten from Willis and then turned the door open.

I was greeted by a warmth that seemed almost too welcoming. The walls were a pale shade of green, complemented by off-white curtains that swayed in the breeze.

Everything was well coordinated— the furniture seemed to be of the same brand as all of them had the same designs and colors,