Madara's Son ( Rewrite)

Chapter:12 Time Lost

My mother had awoken from her coma three months before. During that period, they performed a number of blood tests and other procedures to ensure that everything was in order.

When she awoke, her body was feeble and weak; who could blame her? She was surviving on fluids put into her body via a tube.

She also underwent rehabilitation. Fortunately, she can now go home. Her eating habits have improved as well.

.I was the one who escorted my mum home. Because everyone else was too busy to help, I would be the one to watch after her.

As someone who will assist in the protection of my village. I have to look after her. Not merely because I am her only kid.

Lady Mito was vehemently opposed to the notion, believing that such a weight should not be placed on a twelve-year-old child.

In any case, I persisted until Lasy Mito agreed. She was my mother, and after what had happened to her, I didn't trust anyone to look after her but me.

They were still attempting to find out what had transpired in the Hidden Sand Village that day. They lacked any leads.

One is because my mum was severely injured. Second, three days after being apprehended and transported to the hidden leaf for interrogation, the three guys who had attacked her were discovered dead in their cells.

We finally left the hospital and returned home in the evening. My Mother and I were now standing in front of the house's main entrance.

We had both of our arms connected to each other. My mother's grasp on my arm is tightening. She was tense, to say the least. But I couldn't tell what she was thinking or how she felt.

She hasn't said anything since she awoke. To respond to others, she would simply nod yes or no. It may take some time for her to feel comfortable speaking.

She could still be in a state of shock as a result of everything that has occurred. We stood in front of our door for approximately fifteen minutes before my mother summoned the confidence to open it.

We both took hesitant steps inside after she opened the door. I shut the door behind us. As my mother let go, we were no longer joining our arms.

She started looking around the home, brushing her fingers across every surface she could feel. I was still standing by the door, pulling off my shoes and removing my jacket from the coat rack.

She made her way to the kitchen first. It could be seen from where I was standing.

She was still going over everything with her hand. The fridge, on the counters. She then started opening each cabinet one by one. Then I'll close them all. She simply turned the sink on and off once. She was most likely checking to ensure that everything was working properly.

Organizing everything When I turn around, I notice that my mother is no longer in the kitchen. Walking in and took a peek around to see where she'd gone.

Mother! I raise my voice.

Looking around and made my way across the main hall to the bedrooms. The door to my bedroom was open as I looked down the hall.

When I poked my head in, there was my mum. She was going over everything again with her hand. The dresser's top and the bed frame. Her gaze was fixed on the room.

I just stood there beside the entrance, staring. To be honest, I had no idea what to say or think. I felt bad that I couldn't console my mother or comprehend how she must have felt.

My room, and my house, have altered dramatically since she was last here. Who knows what thoughts were going through her head at the time.

She keeps looking around the room until she comes to a halt in front of the photographs on the windowsill. She was standing in front of it, looking down on it.

Picking up the photo in the frame, she tilted her head slightly as the tips of her fingers traced the image. I wasn't sure which picture she chose because there were three of them.

She then removed her gaze from the photograph and gazed out the window. She just stared out the window for a few moments before lifting her head to the room's ceiling.

She inhaled, took a long breath, and then exhaled. She lowered her head once again. She then shifted her gaze to me. Her gaze locked on me.

When I met her look, my eyes immediately filled with tears. They weren't what I remembered.

Her eyes were generally so alive that you could feel the warmth of the sun through them. When she awoke in the hospital, the warmth in her eyes was still there.

Yes, we both sobbed, but her life and warmth remained, despite the sorrow and pain she endured during her recuperation.

My mother hadn't said anything, but I knew she was fine because of the light in her eyes. I hadn't seen her eyes in a long time, but I recall the warmth and brilliance. It was a feeling you'd never forget.

It was always a source of consolation for me when I was down. I was only five years old at the time, so what do I remember? But I was certain that I remembered her gaze.

The light and warmth were no longer present. It was as if it faded gently before completely disappearing from her appearance.

Her eyes were lifeless, filled with melancholy and even remorse. My mother returned her gaze to the portrait, then to me.

She was still staring at me without saying anything. I wanted to hug her and tell her I was fine and that I was just glad she was alive.

"Mother," I replied as I entered my room fully. Walking up to my mother, who was still standing by the windowsill, holding the photo.

Her gaze never left mine. Now that I was standing in front of her, I took my sight away from her and focused on the photo in her hands.

It was a photo of her and me when I was five years old. In the shot, she was squeezing me strongly. But she was brightly smiling, and her eyes were filled with affection and life.

Returning my gaze to her. Meeting her gaze. She then broke down. Her tears, which she had been keeping back, poured forth like a broken vase filled with water. Being unable to contain and hold it in.

I joined her on her knees since I didn't want her to get hurt. She was getting better, but she was still frail.

She then fully held me in her arms, holding on to her shoulders, just as she had done when we took the photo.

She wasn't smiling or her eyes were full of life this time. She was sobbing and clinging to me, refusing to let go.

"I'm sorry "she cried