Everything has a price, and she figured it out the hard way. She always wanted to be a mother, but three sons had cost her marrying a man she didn't love while being in love with a woman, and her freedom had come at the price of losing both. She didn't lament that her now ex-husband hated her, she always expected it; what did weighted on her was that he didn't want to see his own children anymore. Even more so was the loss of her love, one that she didn't expected to be returned, but she never imagined that that woman, years–long friend, would abandon her after confessing that her heart could only carry love for others like her. One part of herself was relieved that she didn't had time to tell her how she felt, and didn't want to imagine how she'd reacted if she had.
But she didn't have time for tears, not with three sons to protect. The oldest of 17 years old, the second of 14 and the youngest of 5 now depended on her alone, and though the oldest was a big help at home, she couldn't allow him to abandon his wish to go to college by getting a job to help her economically. What kind of mother would she be if she allowed that? A bad one, she said. No; money was her responsibility, not his. With sweet words and head pats she undid the possibility of such a choice every time it appeared and she replaced it with cheering so that hed go back to his studies.
It was easier to deal with the second one. He'd closed himself up with his books, assuring that he'd become a famous writer with a book that he promised to turn into the most sold of all times. But, if he didn't, then hed get a stable job as an editor and let his mom retire early. Such naive but pragmatic aspirations cheered her up, though she lamented that his son was spending so much time working hard and less having fun. Was so much effort from his part alright?
The youngest was the hardest. He missed dad and said so whenever he thought of it. She didn't know if the others did as well, and was too scared to ask. He also missed that his mom didn't read to him before going to bed every night, replaced by one of his brothers, but it couldn't be helped. She'd taken a second job and didn't comeback home until dawn. He cried often, and without her to dry his tears, it was norma that the hole in his little heart grew a tad more everyday. Was it worth it making him feel so alone?
The questions weighted in her heart. The two oldest ones didn't blame her of anything, accepting both her situation and orientation, but she questioned if a part of herself did, and the seas she cried when nobody was looking made her fear she was right. Perhaps she shouldn't have gotten divorced. Perhaps everyone would be happier if she'd taken her truth to the tomb. Perhaps she should try to get back with her ex-husband, or perhaps she should try finding a new one.
Maybe she wasn't cut for this. Maybe she never should've gotten married. Maybe everything was her fault. Thinking that, she cried until asleep.
It was on a full moon night, when she felt the tiredness was about to finish her, that she found the little shadow. It slipped between the dirty clothes she was carrying and tinkled like crystal when it fell to the floor. Without knowing what it was she took it, and a vigor that she didn't feel in many years run through her body. She was about to leave it over a table and forget about it until the next day, when she'd ask her kids what it was and who it belonged to, when a scream froze her heart. It was her second son.
She threw the clothes and run to the kitchen, where it came from. She stopped when an unknown man threatened her with a gun, her second child trapped by the neck in one of his arms. The other two kids went out of their rooms, equally freaked out by the scream, and the man threatened them all the same. The oldest took the youngest on his arms, who clenched to his shirt and started crying for mom. The second one cried too, but did so in silence due to the terror.
She didn't move. Panic and fear froze her feet and her heart beat with such strength that she felt it'd escape from her mouth. But a tingle in her hand, caused by the little shadow, transformed the fear in adrenaline, and the adrenaline in action. Yes, maybe she was a bad mother, and maybe it'd been better to not get a divorce, and maybe her sons would be happier if she wasn't the person she was.
But even a bad mother has her pride. And hers was yelling at her to do whatever it took to protect her children.
She ran. The little shadow trembled. Three, four steps later, she was in front of the man. A shot. Two. The scream of her children. She closed the hand where the shadow shook in a fist, and gave such a strong punch to the man's face that a tooth flew away. The gun fell far away, and her son in her arms, to who she hugged. The other two got closer, extremely worried about their mother and the shots they heard. However, where the second son expected to find blood while hugging her, he didn't found anything. On the floor, both bullets rested like cans that'd been crushed by foot. Her breathing suddenly got faster, and it only went back to normal when her three kids where in her arms, safe and sound. The little shadow slipped from her hand and echoes like a coin in the ground. When it stoped moving, she did too, exhausted.
She woke up hours later, when the police was taking away the thief that had forced the door and threatened them, and the medics were checking her up from head to toe. After a few extenuating hours of investigation and check ups the house was empty again, and her family could go back to sleep. But not her. When everyone was in their beds and the sub was starting to appear by the window, she stood up and went to find the little shadow un til she found it near the wall. She took it between her index and her thumb, and that same revitalizing energy went inside her.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
The medics and officials had dismissed her lack of wounds to simple luck and her incredible strength to adrenaline, but she knew it wasn't like that. No; she remembered perfectly the hit that in her body the bullets had caused, one in her stomach, another in her chest. And the energy that mysterious shadow was giving her wasn't just adrenaline: in the few second she'd carry it, like she was doing now, there was something else it had given her besides strength or determination. It was a security she hadn't felt in many years, that came from a feeling that hadn't let her doubt. Certainty, or maybe, confidence.
What was that shadow and where it came from, nobody could tell her. And since it didn't belong to anyone, she decided to keep it. She tied the object with a delicate thread and turned it into a necklace that she used regularly,and thanks to which she found strength she didn't knew she had. The hesitance that would pop up their head before when she took decisions disappeared and she saw with renovated energy that her children also seemed to benefit from her better state, now that she had enough fuel to dedicate time to them.
But maybe this vitality clouded her judgement, because the grades of her two oldest sons started to decline. It was, undoubtedly, due to their traumatic experience, and she understood. Even so, she couldn't allow them to. How could they secure a future if they didn't keep their grades? But as a mother, was reasonable. She took a small loan to send them to therapy and doubled her efforts in her jobs to pay it, as well as to keep pushing her children to move forward.
Weeks became months, and these piled up one after the other. The little shadow danced on her chest, but it was hard to notice due to the necklace movement when she walked. Where was that woman filled with doubts? She didn't know, she hadn't see her in a long while. Where were those emotions that tormented her? Lost somewhere, she didn't know. When was the last time she'd slept? Maybe three or four days ago, she didn't knew either.
And even so, she wasn't tired. Her mind was clear and serene. Her only worry, if any, was that lately she couldn't control well he force: she'd broken a couple of chairs and damaged some furniture in both of her jobs.
But she completely forgot that when her oldest came back with his talk of not going to college. With excuses like the lack of rest he was seeing in his mother and many others she didn't listen, the argument started to get long. However, she wasn't fonna accept it, not now, not ever. And she needed to make her son understand that, too.
She hit the dinner table and broke it in two. It'd be pricey replacing it, but it was okay. It was a needed sacrifice to keep his son in the right path, and knew hed understood it when he fell quiet and went away without saying anything.
Something like it happened when she saw a stranger taking his youngest by the hand when she came for him to the kindergarten. She only pretended to keep her away from him, but ended up pushing her too strongly that she broke a few of her ribs. Luckily she wasn't made to pay the hospital bill since she was a wanted criminal, but she did get a fine for not conforming with breaking the ribs, but she kept kicking her with her son in her own arms and breaking a few bones more.
But such aggression was needed so she didn't get close to her child ever again. For her family's sake, she didn't care.
Then the secrets started. For some unknown motive, her children started to get away from her. She didn't know why, and since they weren't going to talk, she'd force them. What kind of family kept secrets from one another? So she twisted her oldest's arm. The little shadow wobble ok the thread tied to her neck. Her son responded through cries that she was strange and they didn't know why. She'd changed. When she let him go, the mark of her hand stayed red on his skin.
Since he was crying, she hugged him and pat his head. No, there was no reason to cry; he wasn't a bad child, he just did a bad thing. After all, saying the truth is a good thing every mother had to teach her kid. And her change? It wasn't motive for worry. It was all for the family.
Same was breaking a fork in front of her youngest when he didn't want to eat his greens. It was taking their therapist by their shirt's collar when they didn't want to share something about their sons because it was private information. It was knowing what they did, what they watched and who their children talked to at any moment. It was all needed to protect them.
Was it too much? No, it was love. With something like that it's never enough, no matter what others or her own sons, said to her. A mother cannot doubt when protecting her family. For them she'd be certain. She'd be confident.
But not even that was enough. She knew it when she perceived the smell of tobacco and alcohol from her oldest when he came back from school. The excuses turned into claims; the claims, yelling: and the yelling, cursing. He didn't get that everything she did was for them, but she didn't felt hurt by that. She didn't felt mad either. She was calm, so much so that she didn't remember well how it felt not being so.
The little shadow swing when the first hit fell. It did again with the second. The third. The fourth. The fifth... It was like that until the tenth. It kept moving when the hits reached twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.
Both, shadow and fists, stopped at sixty one.
She stood up and looked down. Her son didn't move. But he was still breathing. Of course he was, what kind of mother would kill her own child? A fake one, she said. Not like her. She was capable of everything in order to raise her kids and protect them. For her family's sake she'd be certain. She'd be confident.
And she'd be ruthless.
The little shadow trembled in her neck like her other two sons did, who watched the scene hiding behind the door. She didn't notice them, like she didn't notice the dark figure standing behind them.