She took a deep breath and blew it out before taking a chair across from me, in front of my desk. She looked down at the floor, and then up at me. “...his is so hard. Where to start…?” It was a rhetorical device, a way for her to organize her thoughts; it required no answer, and I gave none. She went on. “You remember that I stayed late Friday night, right, to finish up that copying and get that FedEx document package ready so I could drop it off?” I nodded. I knew she had stayed, and I had. I was never able to initiate it or at least talk about it.Now me coming back in reality in car I felt my chicks wet with tears of anger, remorse and regret, because of we never spoke about that time we had. Nor we have done anything. Why I didn’t. What if I did? Would she allowed me? Later in her life she became so religious. At that time I was afraid she would tell on me. I wasted my c***dhood replying this memory over and over again.Suddenly thought came in my mind. What if he had same or. More

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