Fuma.
And the worst thing was that I did it in front of my children.
Every afternoon he would sit in his old kitchen chair, take his red cup, light a cigarette and stare out the window for hours.
I had asked him dozens of times to quit smoking, at least when the children were nearby.
Martha, the children are growing up. They're gonna imitate what they see you doing.
“Sarah, there are a lot of things you don’t understand,” he answered one night.
Those words left me restless.
Then I started to notice that Emma and Jack spent more and more time with their grandmother in the afternoons.
Every time he walked into the kitchen, the three of them suddenly remained silent.
One night I surprised Martha by passing something to Jack under the table.
“What have you given him?” I demanded to know.
“Nothing, Mom,” my son replied quickly.
