Anos lay peacefully on Isabella Ruth's lap, his head resting against her soft lap pillow after the warmth of the hotpot. His eyes were closed, breaths steady, like he had finally let go of the storm pressing against his chest.
'Anos… he's suppressing his feelings,' Isabella thought, her slender hand brushing through her son's short black hair, the strands slipping between her fingers like silk. Her heart tightened as she watched his calm, sleeping face. 'He's trying to be strong. But a child shouldn't have to carry such weight. He needs time… time to break through this grief.'
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned down a little, drinking in the sight of her son's peaceful expression. For just a moment, he wasn't the boy destined for greatness, burdened by the system, memories, and responsibility. For just a moment, he was simply her child.
