MAMA has been in a coma for four months now. Family and friends pray that she wakes up; each day, at least three people drop by to see her.

I knelt there motionless, with different kinds of thoughts running through my head, my heart throbbing in pain. I couldn't help but let out a pool of silent, hot tears, quietly wishing she would wake up soon.

I wished she would wake up to know how sorry her husband is, how much regret I feel after trivializing her love, how much our kids cry daily for their mom in my ears, how much people cared to drop by each day despite how tight their schedules are.

Still on that spot, flashbacks of memories came. I remembered how much I loved Mama in our university days and how I did everything just to make her happy. Mama had many better suitors knocking at her door each week, yet she chose me to be her beloved. I was the happiest man on earth when she gave birth to our first children—twins. Our home was a mini paradise. Although we were not financially stable, Mama never looked down on me.

I got seduced by my female colleague at work, and that's when trouble started setting in. Nothing my wife did was ever satisfactory to me again; I yelled at her and came home late and drunk, yet Mama never complained.

Hell broke loose the day she confronted me with clear evidence of my infidelity. I became so defensive that I hit her right on the spot; she fell backward and hit her head on the edge of the metal stand.

There came this silence—Mama was gone, drenched in a pool of her blood. I rushed her to the hospital only to find out that she was pregnant.

These flashbacks brought tears to my face again, and I buried my head in shame and regret, whispering “I am sorry” countless times.

Suddenly, the life machine started beeping very loud and fast. The moment I hit the red button, doctors came rushing in, shifting me to the back while examining her.

Alas! She opened her eyes weakly, recognizing her kids, who were silent beside me all this while. But the moment I moved closer to her, she asked weakly again, “WHO ARE YOU, SIR?”