The Don's Wife

50 | Quandary

The little boy was sent back to that very day once again. Standing inside the same house, on the same carpet, wearing the same clothes, reliving the same moment that torment him almost every dream.

Right by the staircase is where he usually find his mother, descending the stair-steps with suitcases in both hands and a sullen look on face.

"Mother? Where are you off to? Are you going on a trip or some kind?" The little boy asked through his boyish grin.

His mother averted her eyes from him.
"Yes,– some kind."

"With father?"

"No."

"Where to? Can I tag along?"

"No, you can't."

"Oh.." A tinge of disappointment dampened the little boy's smile. But being an optimistic child that he was, he never assumed the worst.

"When will you return? You see, I got this stupid talent show at school next week. My class is doing a play, and I was forced into playing the prince who, apparently will ; 'break the curse with true love's kiss'." Mocked the little boy with air-quotes.

"Lame, cliché, I know.– And I was hoping you could come and watch your son humiliate himself in front of the whole facility. Imagine how fun that'd be." The thought of making his mother laugh brought laughter to him as well.

"James." At her call, the little boy's laughter faded.

It was the first time he heard his name in such tone.
Cold, foreign.

"Yes?" The little boy replied hesitantly.

"I won't be returning."

His brows furrowed with confusion.
"Wh- what do you mean?"

"Whatever you do,– do not search for me." Told his mother in the briefest manner, before continuing to walk past him.

A small crack formed on the floor, right on the spot where the little boy stood.

"Wait!" He hurriedly turned around and grabbed his mother's arm. Eyes darted back and forth, still struggling to make sense of it all.

"I- I know! This must be one of your pranks isn't it?"

'Of course. It must be. What else could it be?'
His inner-self reassured.

"Very well done mother, I must admit. You really had me this time." He chuckled nervously. "So you can drop the act now. Oh! And by the way, I heard Mary is making our favorite for dinner, and–"

His mother jerked her arm away from him.
"Farewell, my child."

In that moment, the little boy didn't remember what reflected in his mother's eyes, but he did remember that he wished she looked at him differently.

The crack spread wider from underneath his feet.

As his mother kept walking away, the little boy tried his hardest to move, to run, and prevent her from leaving any further. Despite the invisible weight that obscurely shackled his ankles, and the expanding cracks that marred the floor with each cumbrous step he took, he managed to grasp her arm again. Only this time, he hold onto more tightly than before.

"Mother, why? Tell me why you're leaving?" In distress, he demanded her answers.

When the little boy noticed that his mother's attention was fixated on something, or someone behind him, he followed her gaze and found his father standing at the top of the staircase, watching the scene unfold with sheer nonchalance.