I still remember that day clearly. The sky was lightly overcast, as if sensing my unabated sadness. That morning, I lay in my room, hearing my mother's loud crying coming from downstairs.
Trembling, I went downstairs to find her sitting in the corner of the living room, her face pale, the blood from her eyes still drying on her cheeks.
"Mom, please... don't throw a tantrum anymore," my voice trembled.
I gripped the rag I'd used to clean up the spilled tea. "There's no point in throwing a tantrum; a dead person won't come back to life even if you cry or scream."
But my words couldn't calm the storm raging in her mind.
Without warning, her slender hand lifted and flew toward my cheek.
Slap! The sound of the slap still rang in my ears—a gentle yet piercing torture.
I turned my head, my cheek red and sore. Tears were trapped in the corners of my eyes, but I held them back. I forced my lips to curve into a thin smile.
"Mom, I know this is hard... I understand how much you miss Dad. I'll prepare your favorite meal," I said softly, though my heart was breaking.
Mom looked down, tears welling up again. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes wrinkled, like she was slowly eroding away. Sometimes she'd hit, kick, or strangle me in her confused state of mind.
And I... I let her. Because I was the only one who could take care of her now.
I set out a plate of warm rice, tender fried chicken, and fresh vegetables—her favorite foods. I cautiously approached.
"Come on, eat, Mom. You'll get sick, and Dad will be sad if he finds out you're not eating."
Mom was about to throw the plate, but her eyes fell on the word "Dad." She paused, her hands trembling, then began to eat slowly. I held the spoon and fed her mouthful after mouthful, suppressing the trembling in my fingertips from the bruises on my right hand.
The days passed in the same ritual, me being a servant, a cook, and a child who never grew up as a child. This house still stands, thanks to my hard work. But underneath, my heart was slowly breaking.
One afternoon, I was mopping the living room floor. My body was tired, my back ached.
"Ah... so tired. I feel like all my bones are going to break," I muttered.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and hurried to open it.
There stood a man dressed in a neat black suit, the scent of perfume wafting softly. His black hair was styled, and his dark green eyes shone with curiosity.
"Hi, kid. Let me introduce myself, I'm William. May I come in?" he said with a warm smile.
My heart immediately tensed. I'm known for being fierce, especially towards strangers.
"No way. Go away, insect!" I replied coldly.
William chuckled softly. "Ah, I didn't come to rob or do anything bad."
"Then why are you here? Who are you?"
He held his breath, then leaned forward. "It's complicated to explain. I—I'm here to help."
I paused. Help? The idea sounded strange.
"Help?" I repeated.
As if offended, William gently patted my chest.
"Let me come in first, then I'll tell you everything."
I eyed him warily, then looked away.
"Come in, but be quick about what you mean." He sat on the sofa, scanning every corner of the room. I stood against the wall.
"Your house is neat... Clean. You did everything?" he asked, amazed.
"Yes. Get to the point," I interrupted.
William took a deep breath. "Your mother—she's severely depressed, isn't she? I can help you get her back to normal."
The promise took me by surprise. "Back to normal? How?"
He smiled mysteriously. "Just tell her I need some time with her."
My heart sank. A stranger interfering in my family affairs?
"I won't let you! Go!" I kicked the air in front of his shoes.
He slowly rose to his feet, then stood on his tiptoes. "Okay, I guess you're stubborn. You stupid kid. But later... you'll let me. If you don't, I don't need permission for anything."
With that, he left me at the door.
His luxury car disappeared around the corner.
Two days later, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the phone ringing. I went downstairs to find my mother nowhere to be seen. Panic swept me out of the house.
"Mom!" I shouted, my steps hurried.
I saw them—my mother and William—standing on the front porch. She laughed softly, looking at him lovingly.
"Wait... is that the guy from yesterday?" I muttered. "What did you do to Mom?" I snapped.
William smiled casually. "Relax, son. I was just talking."
I grabbed my mother's hand and glared at her.
"Don't call me son!" I shouted.
William leaned over. "I mean no harm. Your mother is with me. See for yourself..." My mother turned to William, then to me.
"Okay, you understand me best, William," she said quietly.
At that moment, all my doubts and fears exploded. What was this man doing? Was he—hypnotizing my mother?
"Hey, don't touch me!" I stepped forward.
William chuckled. "Who do you think you are? My name is William, not Wiliem."
I grinned. "To hell with names, I won't allow it!"
He stared at me coldly. "Your mother doesn't mind. Is there any other proof besides her heart?"
My mother nodded slowly.
In an instant, everything became chaotic.
I was caught between my mother's newfound love and the threat of a stranger who dared to touch her. That first attack was the beginning of a dark period I could never have predicted.
My final words that night would become my biggest regret a year later. I don't know what his plan was. But one thing's for sure: my life and my mother's would never be the same after my first meeting with William.
.....
I don't know how long I'd been asleep. I heard a soft but repeated knock on the door. I woke up, rubbing my eyes and glancing at the television, which was still on, playing some uninteresting late-night show. The living room light was still on, and my hair was a mess, a sign of how soundly I'd slept without a plan.
"Ah, it's already late, I see?" I muttered softly, then stood up and walked to the door.
When I opened it, my mother was standing there.
She had just returned from a date with William. But something else made my chest tighten—William was still with her, standing right behind her, his arm casually wrapped around my mother's waist. They were too close.
I suppressed a look of disgust and rolled my eyes, but still let them in.
They looked relaxed and all smiles, as if today were the best day of their lives.
My mother and William sat on the sofa, looking as relaxed as a couple who had just returned from their honeymoon. I couldn't help but stare around the unfamiliar house. The clock on the wall read nine o'clock. It felt like I'd just been sitting and watching television, but it turns out I'd fallen asleep for quite some time.
I ruffled my hair, a little frustrated.
"Grie? What are you doing there?" my mother asked from the sofa.
I turned quickly, trying to calm myself. "Nothing... just wondering why you came home so late."
My mother smiled, about to answer, but William cut her off.
"We had dinner at a fancy restaurant, then went for a walk. Why? Are you jealous?" he said with an annoying smile, crossing his legs and leaning back stylishly.
My teeth were almost clenched. I held back my anger. I simply shook my head and said softly, "No."
"Grie, you go to bed first. I want to talk to William for a bit," my mother said in a soft, silky voice.
I nodded obediently, despite the burning in my chest. I climbed the stairs with heavy steps. Halfway there, I slammed my bedroom door quite hard.
Downstairs, William heard the noise and turned to my mother. "What's wrong with that kid?"
My mother smiled faintly. "Ah... maybe he's tired."
Meanwhile, I sat on the bed, grabbed my notebook, and began scribbling on the blank page with dark ink.
"Damn William. You're dead," I muttered angrily.
Each stroke of ink was like an explosion of uncontrollable emotions. I tore the page apart and threw it into the corner of the room. My head was filled with negative thoughts. The thought of them getting married made my chest feel tight.
I jumped onto the bed and wrapped myself in a thick blanket. My eyes stared out the window. William's car was still parked in the driveway.
"Is that bug staying here?!" I closed the curtains angrily and closed my eyes.
The next morning, I woke earlier than usual. From downstairs, I heard soft laughter and chatter. I threw back the blanket and quickly got up.
A feeling of unease settled in my chest. I changed clothes, fixed my hair carelessly, and went downstairs.
And sure enough—William was still there.
Sitting relaxed in the kitchen sipping coffee, my mother was cooking with a beaming smile on her face.
"Why hasn't that bug gone home yet?!" I hissed softly. I walked into the kitchen and sat down at the dining table, a safe distance from the man.
William noticed me and opened his mouth. "Hey Grie, sit here."
He pointed to the empty chair beside him. I pretended not to notice.
"Hey, brat, don't ignore me!" His tone changed, now deeper and sharper.
I turned slowly. "Be quiet. Your voice is annoying."
Then I looked at my mother and tried to focus on her.
My mother began to tell a story while she cooked. "Back when I was little... I first learned to cook because I wanted to make soup for my grandmother. But... it was burnt and salty. My grandmother still ate it with a smile. That's how I learned that cooking isn't just about taste, but also about the heart."
I smiled, soaking in every word my mother said. Her deft hands, the way she shook the pan, the way she smiled as she reminisced about her childhood—it was all so warm and brought back memories.
Soon, the food was served. The fragrant aroma of soup filled the room. My stomach immediately growled.
My mother looked at William and me alternately.
"Grie, come sit closer. We should get along, don't be so fierce," she said softly.
Of course, I couldn't refuse.
My mother's smile was too pure to resist. I got up and sat down next to William. The man looked satisfied.
We began to eat. This moment reminded me of the past. When my father was still alive. When everything felt right.
But now... even though my mother's face was the same, her laughter and jokes were the same... everything wasn't the same.
My father wasn't there. And this stranger now occupied the space that should have belonged solely to my family.
It felt like I was lost in my own home.