It was the wee hours of the morning. I heard the door to my parents’ room open and heard my father coughing hard. He went to the kitchen hurriedly followed by my mother’s nervous queries of whether he’s alright. They went back to their room, with my father coughing even harder, as , if trying to spit out something that was obstructing his breathing. In a few more seconds, all I heard was my mother’s piercing screams. And before I even reached their room, he was gone. Heart attack took Papa from us, just like that.

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