𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔
"If you could go back in time, would you change?" He couldn't remember why this question kept hammering in his head, nor why he found himself thinking about it again. He shouldn't, it was wrong, he knew. He al...
Uuuh, The chapters in 2021 are confusing because I'm still trying to assimilate a plot of my own before Cannon. This chapter will be much more about establishing the Jaime-Desmond relationship as father and sons to give more impact both in the wild forest and in Desmond's death. Lottie will get a little love in this chapter, even though the focus of this initial arc is Shauna.
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Jaime was only seven years old when he experienced his first great disappointment in life. It was a presentation at the elementary school, a solemn occasion for which most of the children had dressed in special attire, eager to honor their mothers. The hall was filled with parents and relatives, and the laughter and murmurs filled the air with an aura of happiness and pride. However, amid this contagious joy, there was a silent sadness. It was ironic, perhaps even cruel, that among all those children, Jaime was the only one who did not have a mother in the audience, watching him with tenderness. He looked at the faces of others, the bright smiles and eyes brimming with emotion, and felt anger bubbling up in his small chest, so fierce and intense that, for a moment, he imagined he would explode, burning the world around him. But he did not explode. Instead, he ran to the nearest corner, curling up in the shadows, his face buried in his hands, crying silently.
Was it fair that hedidn't have a mother? Why did the world despise him so much? Why could everyone else embrace their mothers, but not him? Why him? Why had his mother abandoned him and fled, leaving him alone, lost? Why hadn't she taken him with her? Questions like these swirled in his childish mind, small, yes, but already capable of a premature wisdom, an unusual insight for a boy his age. His head throbbed, and he wished all those doubts would just disappear, like leaves carried away by the autumn wind.
"You must not cry, Jai. Your mother wouldn't want that."
The voice was deep but gentle, and it pulled him out of his anguished thoughts. Jaime looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying so much. Through the tears, he saw the imposing figure of his father, Desmond, who crouched beside him in the corner of the stage with a deliberate, careful movement. Jaime had not performed-and, to behonest, hedidn't even want to. He had been content to stay out of it, watching everything with a distant gaze, until his father appeared. And now, with his father's presence, Jaime no longer needed to hide to cry. The boy buried his head in Desmond's chest, feeling the comforting warmth of his father's body, like an anchor in a sea of despair.
