Chapter twelve

I hate it when Irena gets drunk.

When she finds comfort and happiness in the indulgence of liquor.

With my seat tucked in the shadowy corner of the poker room, my glass of whiskey was my only company. But as the liquid amber danced like fire in the dim light, my thoughts were far from content. The mere mention of Irena's wild drinking habits was enough to make my blood boil. It was a stab in my heart when I would come home to see her slurring her words and stumbling about. Each whiff of alcohol reminded me of my own painful past, a shadow that followed me with each wobbling step she took. I had tried to discuss it with her, but it felt as if my words were just another matchstick in the never-ending rift that sat between us, letting it grow until the flames erupted into an eruption of hot-headedness.

It wasn't just the physical toll her drinking took on her, but the emotional toll it took on me. Her drinking reminds me of my mother, the very same woman who had neglected me when I was