"Honey, wake up."
I jolted awake, startled by the sudden voice. My heart pounded as I looked around, only to see Ava standing beside , an apologetic look on her face.
"I'm sorry—did I scare you?" she asked softly.
Realizing it was just her, I shook my head. "No, you didn't, Mom."
The mont the word Mom left my lips, her face lit up with pure joy. A tear slipped down her cheek as she pulled into a tight embrace, so tight it almost hurt. She slled faintly of jasmine, sweet and calming. After a while, she finally let go, her face glowing with happiness.
Her eyes were full of compassion gentle, loving, and maternal. I couldn't help but smile back. Warmth flooded my chest. So, this is what it feels like to have a mother…
My own mother had died when I was young, so I never knew what that love felt like. But if I had to guess, it must be like this—warm, safe, and comforting. For the first ti, I envied those who still had their parents, people who got to feel this kind of love every day.
So are born unlucky, like . But right now, for once, I felt lucky too. I thought The Walking Dead world would bring only suffering, but I hadn't realized that even suffering could feel this comforting.
From the bottom of my heart, I hoped Ava would smile more often. She looked beautiful when she did.
"Max, honey, can you… say mother again?" She asked, covering her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.
"Mom…" I whispered.
She broke down completely, hugging again, sobbing softly against my shoulder. Her body trembled as she cried, but sohow, her embrace soothed my restless heart. The anger and grief I had carried for so long lted away in that mont. I never imagined a single word from could bring soone so much happiness.
When she finally cald down, she wiped away her tears and spoke in a shaky voice. "Do… do you rember , little Max?"
I wanted so badly to say yes—to protect that hopeful look in her eyes—but I couldn't lie. My chest tightened as I lowered my gaze. "No… I don't rember. I'm sorry."
Her warm hand slid off my shoulder, leaving behind a strange emptiness. Quickly, I added, "Even if I don't rember you, I know I used to call you mother. When I think about what a mother should look like… your face cos to mind."
I prayed silently that my small lie would bring her so comfort.
"Look at , Honey," she said gently.
Reluctantly, I lifted my head. She was smiling, a soft, radiant smile that made my throat tighten. I didn't even know why I was getting so emotional. Maybe it was the grief over my grandfather's death, or the pain of betrayal from my ex. Maybe it was loneliness. Whatever it was, it didn't feel bad. It had been so long since I'd smiled sincerely.
She squeezed my hand and said tenderly, "Don't feel sorry, honey. I'm happy—happy that you still call Mom. I will pray to God that your mory cos back soon."
Then, chuckling softly, she tapped her head. "Haha… I almost forgot why I ca here! The food's ready. Co eat, sweetheart—your favorite: peanut butter and jelly with a sunny-side-up egg, just the way you like it."
Smiling, I nodded. That was all I could do.
"Now get up, you sleepyhead," she said playfully, patting my shoulder.
I tried to rise. "Max, slow down—you're still injured," she said quickly, her voice full of concern.
Even though I didn't really need help, I pretended for her sake. She slipped her arm under mine, supporting my weight as we made our way downstairs together. Her warmth beside made the small, dark world outside feel just a little less frightening.
As I got closer to the dining table, the sll of food hit —rich and savory, making my stomach growl before I even sat down. My father and Uncle Matthew were already there, sitting in the dim light of a single lantern. Its flickering glow danced across their tired faces, casting long shadows on the walls. The lantern's soft light felt like a small beacon of hope in the dark, cold house.
Three plates were set on the worn wooden table. Each held a small serving of bean and carrot soup, though there was clearly more water than vegetables. The portions looked too small for grown n. From the corner of my eye, I noticed two empty bean cans lying on the kitchen island. Even though the kitchen was dark, my eyes—sharper than ever —could make out every detail in the low light.
Ava guided gently to a chair as my father raised his hand in greeting.
"How are you feeling, kid?" he asked with a warm smile.
"I'm feeling okay," I replied, returning it.
Ava went back to the kitchen to fetch my plate, but before my father could speak again, Matthew's slightly slurred voice cut in.
"That's good to hear, Max."
My father's smile faded. "Didn't I tell you to drink a little bit?" Irritation creeping into his tone.
Matthew looked away. "Brother, it was just a little. I'm fine, I swear."
He straightened up, trying to look sober, but my father's eyes narrowed. "You'd better be fine," he said firmly.
Before the tension could grow, Ava returned, carrying my plate.
"Here you go, honey—your food."
Finally, so food, I was getting hungry. This would be my first al in The Walking Dead world.
User Comments
0 comments from readers