“Your father is dead,” my sister said, her voice muted and cold, just like the carpeting and the upholstery in the executive lounge. She was a member, I was free-riding, munching on the complimentary nuts. She was looking through the window wall, with an empty stare, at the snowed-in apron, almost completely white despite the three snowploughs in constant movement since noon.
“I know,” I said, although I didn’t.
She turned towards me. Her face was at the same time blank as the blanket of snow outside and a maze of emotions, many cruel, unforgiving and deeply etched into her skin, some pleading for more time and allowing doubt to set in, but none equivocal.
“I know,” I said again and felt indescribably grateful to her for pretending to believe me.
You can change your options. Cookie settingsACCEPT
Privacy & Cookies Policy
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.