The air inside the house was thick—laced with tension, confusion, and a bitter aftertaste of truth only half-spoken.
"Mom," Mandume broke the silence, eyes narrowed. "You know that man? Enough to borrow a gun from him? I mean—how?"
Bonita didn't wait for a response. "Do you even realize what that means? That you could've killed someone? Mom, how are we supposed to feel safe with you after what just happened?"
Maria sat on the edge of the couch, her composure crumbling under the weight of suspicion. Star returned quietly with a glass of water.
"Madam… you really need this," she said, offering it gently. Maria accepted it with a scowl, her fingers trembling around the rim.
Christine crossed her arms, eyes pinned sharply on Maria. "There's more to this story, isn't there, Maria?"
"I… I'm sorry, Mom," Maria muttered, voice faint. "Really, I am."
Christine wasn't done. "And you—who are you, exactly?" she asked, turning her gaze to Romero.
Romero cleared his throat awkwardly. "Maria's… friend. We went to college together."
"Of course," Bonita scoffed. "Everyone's mom's 'college friend' these days."
"I'm Dr. Romero. Manager of Paola Asylum Clinic," he added without thinking—and instantly regretted it.
Silence dropped like a hammer.
"Paola Asylum?" Mandume echoed, brows furrowed. "That's where Dad was admitted."
A shocked hush fell over the room.
"Oh—um—yes… right. I should be going. The police may still need my statement," Romero stammered, already backing toward the door. "Goodbye."
He slipped out like a ghost, leaving the door swinging behind him.
Bonita turned back to Maria. "You want to explain that?"
Maria stood abruptly, eyes red but jaw locked tight. "I need some time alone," she said coldly, and marched to her room, shutting the door behind her with finality.
"I swear," Bonita whispered, shaking her head, "I thought only Zee World families were this dramatic. Never imagined I'd be in one."
Christine sighed. "Breakfast, anyone?"
"Yeah… sure, Granny," Mandume said, retreating to his room to regroup.
"I'll join you in the kitchen, Grandma," Star said with a warm smile, and followed Christine.
Later, she popped her head back into the living room.
"Bonita, come on," Star coaxed. "Let's help Grandma."
Bonita stayed frozen on the couch. "I don't know, Star… my head's spinning from all this."
"Exactly why you need food. Food is therapy. Food is logic. Food is life," Star replied, tugging playfully at her sleeve. "Come on."
Bonita hesitated, then finally stood. "Fine. But I'm not smiling."
"We'll work on that," Star grinned.
Together, they joined Christine, and the kitchen soon filled with laughter, clinking utensils, and the sweet aroma of something ordinary—something normal—cutting through the madness of their morning.