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A resilient university student unexpectedly meets a passionate journalist as they both strive to fulfill their dreams amid a chilling climate of gang vio...
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"Mes chers parents, je pars. Je vous aime mais je pars. Vous n'aurez plus d'enfant ce soir."
Louane_French Singer (Cover)
Ethan
It seems like the universe has finally decided to be on my side for once. Not only did I spend an incredible Sunday night with Norabel but on Monday morning I receive a lead from one of my sources that might become a story worthy of coverage.
I go quickly over the email that awaits in my inbox after getting out of the shower but my initial enthusiasm evaporates when I discover what tragedy the news conveys. As per our agreement, my source provided the name and contact info of the woman who might be willing to talk to me. She's the mother of the victim.
The incident happened Friday afternoon and I find myself torn apart at the idea of calling that woman so soon after the events when she undoubtedly has too many things to deal with to have time for the press.
What makes me make up my mind is a post-scriptum note that my source added at the end of his email.
This poor woman needs someone to hear about what happened to her son. Call her soon.
I stop by the kitchen to grab a quick bite before leaving and stop short when I see Mom prepping breakfast.
"Shouldn't you be at work?" I place a kiss on top of her head then head over to the fridge.
"I had to call in sick today. I feel terrible."
"You refuse to take a break Mom," I admonish. "It's exhaustion."
"Hush now, and eat your food."
She puts a plate down in front of me when I take a seat at the table and returns to the stove.
"Norabel already left for school right?"
"You missed her by a few minutes," she answers over her shoulder. "Did you have a good time last night?"
I almost choke on my food and need to drink several gulps of juice to swallow it down. In a moment of panic, I think that my mother might have heard noises coming from Norabel's room last night until I remember that we went to a show before we came back home then I dried hump her like a horny teenage boy.
"The show was fantastic," I say once I recover. "We all had a blast."
"I'm happy to see that Norabel and you have worked out whatever issue you both had going on."
My fork stops midair between my plate and my mouth.
Is that a trick a question?
I throw a glance in my mother's direction but with her back to me, it's impossible to read her face. I decide to settle for a safely vague answer.
