All her sons were dead except one. All her hopes had vanished into a bottle of whiskey. There was nothing more to live for, save her toddler grandson Casper whom she hardly ever saw. It was over for Bertha McFadden – there she was, sitting quietly in her dark living room. She was weak and frail, her violet eyes were red and swollen from an hour of crying. Empty bottles of beer and whiskey lay scattered along the floor. Despair had taken control of her life ever since the Trio was killed.
Mother McFadden was staring straight ahead with a cold, fierce anger in her eyes. No more tears. Just...
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