"Your father said that the young man whose picture was on Marisa's wall is his son. I laugh because you are more handsome compared to him."
Instead of giving any semblance of a reply, Damar pointed to the thing that currently held his attention. A framed photograph of a little boy.
"Who is that?"
"That's you, right?" the woman who wore a v-collared shirt looked at the framed picture Damar pointed, "Your father said that is his son."
"Oh, I'm just checking."
Truthfully, Damar was fairly surprised. He was not sure about it. Was he still part of the memory of a man named Amar? To be honest, Damar himself didn't know his father's face. Between being forbidden by Mrs. HRD and not wanting to know it himself, Damar never bothered.
"How is your mother doing?"
"Mom, don't talk stuff with him far too long," Marisa yelled from behind. It seemed that she was being held at bay because his step-mother wanted to get to know him first.
