Page 59 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

I walked out of the destroyed bakery, down the
street that was once filled with people coming and going.

Now, there was only chaos and debris. One question
filled my mind:

“What do I do now?”

Guilt overwhelmed me. I imagined my mother’s
face—how could I face her? How could I apologize?

What would I even say after all that had happened?

Before I realized it, I was standing at our front

door. It looked the same as always, the paint chipped in a
few places. I knocked, and soon my father opened it,

wearing the same comforting smile he always had.
Without saying a word, I asked about my mother. From

the kitchen, a familiar aroma wafted out—the smell of

bread she used to bake every morning.

I ran to the kitchen and saw her there, apron tied
around her waist, holding a large wooden spoon. Her

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