As soon as Asher moved out an empty box from the baby's room, Julia shouted with her hands on her hips.
Asher stood there, looking at me as if he were in a dilemma.
My dad lit a cigarette and grumbled irritably, saying, "The things are all piled up. How do we move around? The house is so small."
"Don't move things. I won't live here."
I looked at my mom and said, "Give me the key to the house on the Garden Road. I will live over there."
I had another suite over there.
Rubbing her hands, my mother didn't respond for a while.
She looked at Asher.
Asher scratched his head and said awkwardly, "Julia, that... that house is for Linda's parents."
"Oh."
I nodded and smiled faintly.
If I had sold the house on Garden Road five years ago, I would have raised enough money to obtain a letter of forgiveness from the victim's family.
With a letter of forgiveness, I would have been sentenced to at most one or two years, or even probation.
But I didn't sell it. I wanted to leave that house for my parents so that they could live there in their old age.
As a result, it became a home for Linda's parents.
In an instant, a surge of grief and anger welled up from within me, rushing through my whole body.