I have never seen the face of my father. People told me that he died of cancer but I know that they are lying.
The only memory that I have of my father is the hug that he used to give me before I went to bed. That was when I was 3. Yeah, I know. I have a good memory.
I ask my mother at least once in a day "What happened to dad?" and her answer is always the same. "He went to a better place." But her face doesn't match what she said. I see the anger and the pain in her face whenever I say the word "dad".
Now that I am 15, I can enjoy some privacy and independence. One day, I was home alone and was looking through some baby albums of mine to see if I can find any traces of my dad. I wasn't able to find any, but I was able to find something that I can never forget.
I found a picture of people lined up in a straight line on the floor dead. DEAD. I saw traces of blood, bruises, and cuts all over their bodies. I couldn't believe what I was looking at. I felt like something inside of me has broken. And the only title below that image was "1980. 05. 18."
Then I heard my mom pressing the password for the front door, so I quickly closed the album and placed it where it belonged. I didn't know if that image was something that I wasn't meant to see but I just felt like I shouldn't tell my mom about this so I kept quiet.
During dinner, my mom asked me, "Why aren't you asking me about your dad today?" Then, I replied, "Oh...because I know I will get the same response."
This time, I saw a relaxing but bitter smile on her face. And she said, "Well...I will give you a different response this time, are you ready?"
I felt the tension in the atmosphere. I knew for sure that she was going to tell me the truth this time and this truth will be related to the picture that I saw in the album. I was scared. I wasn't sure if I was mentally prepared to hear what my father went through that lead to death. But I knew one this for sure. I wanted to know. "Yes" I replied.
