A brown Toyota Shush cuts through our lane without any signal, making us swerve. Anne slams the horn.

"That stupid driver!" she says.

But it's useless because the Shush has already gone ahead of us. A trail of sweat drips to her neck. Anne bites her lips.

"I'm sorry about that. It's just there are so many reckless drivers they're getting on my nerves. I don't see why they implement driving exams when bastards like him can run on the road freely."

She grimaces. "Don't mind me. You should be resting."

"You can let loose how much you want. Don't worry about me because I rested a lot from staying the bed all day."

"I'm glad that you're coming home now."

Outside, a great number of people walk. A group of teenagers, who wears a navy blue shirt and jogging pants, are talking to each other. All over their faces are smiles.

"This is our community," she says.

Ahead, there's a gate where its posts are connected to form an arch above. So this is it?

"There are so many people," I say.

"Yes." she smiles. "You may not remember, but you've spent 4 years here."

"That's a pretty long time."

But only 4 years? How about when I was a child?

"Anne."

"Do you need something?" she keeps her eyes on the road.

"What kind of person is my mother?"

"Your mother?"

Of a sudden, the atmosphere becomes suffocating. Thankfully, the radio continues to play songs that fill the air between us. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"She's beautiful."

I lift my head. "I... ok. I understand."

"She's pretty tall too. Probably a few inches shorter than me? Fair skin, deep-set eyes, and a woman of classic fashion. You resemble her, you know?"

"Really?"

"I can't think of anything because I only met her once, but she's beautiful. Actually, you look like your father more."

"Ok."

"But whatever may happen in this world, keep in mind she's still your mother. The woman who experienced the hardships of bearing you, and the very same woman who went through the eye of the needle just to bring you to life. Don't hate her, alright?"

"I won't." I don't really have the right to hate her, not when I haven't seen her myself.

Hmm... I wonder why she and my father ended up in divorce. Alright, I'll ask indirectly. I turn my head to her.

"Anne?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry for being a burden to you—"

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"What are you saying? You aren't a burden. You never became one."

"So, can I ask you another question?"

"Just keep throwing them."

Great. "Since I don't really get the chance to see him at the hospital, I'm wondering what kind of person is my father."

She leans forward with a pronounced sigh. "You're father is..."

The car stops. The view outside shows a big modern-looking house.

"We're here," she says.

She picks up all of her stuff. On the other hand, I prepare my things. Suddenly, the sketchbook falls on the floor.

"Need help?"

"I can do this." then, I get the sketchbook.

"I'll carry your bag so get out of the car and go inside."

"If it's not too much for you, sure."

Getting out of the car gives an odd feeling. The feeling when you're seeing things for the very first time. Is this freedom? Maybe happiness. I don't really know.

The house is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The dark green metal gate stands rather tall as the brick red roof peaks above the division.

"Shall we enter?"

"Yeah."

The facade has mini steps leading to the door. Beside it, the brownish color of the bonsais calls to my attention. They... they don't look well.

"Those bonsais are your father's."

"He loves plants?"

"Only bonsais."

He must be a busy person if the plants he loves are dying.

Anne advances, I follow her.

A wide variety of geometric designs, contrasting in colors, are showcased on the vases in the living room. I point the one on my left.

"This is nice," I say.

"I picked that."

"It has this very modern vibe. Probably because it resembles the art pieces from Cubism."

"I'm not really that knowledgeable in arts, but I think it's amazing that despite having amnesia, you didn't forget about art."

"Well, I don't know how or why, but when I woke up, I have this strange perspective of things. And as my stay continues, my desire for art deepens. Thanks for bringing me this sketchbook Anne. "

A gentle smile appears on her lips.

"It's nothing, Matt. Even though I'm not your biological mother, you are my son."

At the center of the room is a couch. Its color on the bottom is a shade of dark brown that turns lighter to the top. It's weaved and made out of a vine. I sit.

"Are you hungry?"

"No. Not really. "

"We have no TV here, but we have a mini theater on the second floor. Come on, I'll show you around the house."

"Can we do that later? I want to stay for a moment to feel this place. Maybe it will help me remember my memories."

"Alright then. I'll just go change into something more comfortable before cooking." she gazes at the stairs. "Your father may come home at any moment now so greet him when he does, okay?"

"Yeah."

She takes her steps on the stairs. Out of nowhere, a series of heavy treads resounds from the surface. Going down the steps is a tall middle-aged man, and he's the one making the loud sound. His facial hair smoothens the proportion of his prominent facial features, but he appears stern. Looking at Anne, his expression softens.

Anne arches her brows. "You're already home! Your car is not in the garage, so I thought you weren't."

"I left the car at the mechanic, and Frank drove me home."

"I already told you, get a new car."

"I can't. That's my first investment, and it's full of memories."

He pulls Anne into a hug and kisses her on the lips at once.

Is this man my father?

"You're done at the hospital?"

She unwraps her hand from his neck. "Yeah. Why don't you gaze at the living room?"

He roams his head, and our eyes meet. He removes his arms around Anne's waist. The serious expression on his face returns. Then, he points to the sketchbook.

"What is that?" he asks.

I stand from my seat. "G-good afternoon, dad."

"Is that a sketchbook?"

"Yes." I take the sketchbook and hand it to him.

Bang!

But my father or the man who's supposed to be my father slams my sketchbook on the floor. He brings his foot to it and stomps the leaves.

"T-that's—"

"Since this is a new start, you should live in honor and not in disappointment. I raise you to be an entrepreneur, not an artisan. So it's better if you avoid doing stupid things like this."

Stupid things?

He sets an envelope on the spherical rattan table. "Here."

"What's that?" Anne asks in a bitter tone.

"That's an invitation from the office of the President. He wants to see Matthew. And since you're already here, you should meet him this Friday."

Her brows form a sharp curve.

"But Matt just got out of the hospital," Anne yells.

However, the man gazes at me. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm your father. Call me father. Anything besides that is not acceptable."

"Yes... I'm sorry."

Father walks to the staircase. Anne grabs him, but she fails to stop his walk, and so, she's left standing. After he is upstairs, she comes to me.

"I'm very sorry Matt. You did nothing wrong. Don't worry, I'll talk to him.

"Thank you."

Running to the stair steps, her shoes make clacking sounds.

CLAck CLack Clack clack...

Anne is right. I can see my face in that man, he's really my father. But somehow, I don't want to be like him.