“YOUR FATHER WOULD BE so angry with me.”

“What does Dad have to do with this?” Sord questioned as he sat on floor next to her. “And did Matt hit you? Your cheek is all red. Part of it is already black and blue.”

Becca lifted her hand and carefully rubbed it over throbbing injury on her right cheek.

“God, I was so filled with adrenaline that I hardly noticed. Honey, can you get my mirror in the bathroom?”

Sord jumped up and returned with the mirror.

She surveyed the damage, pressing her finger delicately against the cheekbone.

“Ow, Jesus! I’ve never had a break on my face, but I swear this feels broken. At least chipped.”

Realizing he had done nothing yet to help, Sord ran to the refrigerator and returned with a wet washcloth filled with ice.

“Oh, thanks. I’m not sure I can even put pressure on it, but I’ll try.”

“So Matt hit you?”

Her head shook. “Well, he slammed the bed with his fist, then either intentionally or accidentally whacked my face with his elbow when he pulled back. Imagine a guy as big as him doing that. I ended up on the floor but didn’t notice how much it hurt until just now, looking at it.”

“It always happens that way,” Sord observed.

She sighed loudly, knowing what this meant for Matt. Given the emphasis on training citizens to adhere to a consistent set of norms and rules, Prosperity by design had developed few laws. But breaking some norms could be worse than breaking others. Kids fighting on a playground due to a spat might get a sanction. But an adult hitting another adult? Certainly a reprimand. Possibly expulsion. An adult hitting a child then another adult within days of each other? Certain expulsion. Even in Prosperity, life remained harsh for adults unable to control their emotions.

Sord tilted his head, surveying the cheek. “I’m no doctor, but by the looks of it, your cheekbone is broken. You need to get it seen, like immediately.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“I don’t want you to talk if it hurts too much,” he suggested, patting her shoulder.

“Ouch!” she winced, breathing inward between her clenched teeth.

“He hit your shoulder as well?”

“He’ll get sent back,” she thought. “First Sord, then my shoulder, then my face. And the threats, even in anger. It won’t matter if the elbow to the face was accidental. You don’t get physical in any argument. Strictly verboten.”

“He didn’t hit my shoulder,” she acknowledged, “but he squeezed it very hard for a few seconds.”

“Is it broken too?”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

She moved her shoulder slowly in a circle. “No, I doubt it. Still moves. But you’re right. I need to have both looked at.”

“Okay,” Sord confirmed, for the first time in his life feeling like he was responsible for his mother.

It was a clear turnabout from anything he had ever considered. To this point, he always viewed her as the adult, the parent, the overseer, the ethical teacher, the disciplined and gentle persuader. And everything he thought of himself in relation to her revolved around what he needed to do to keep her happy. Yet he’d also find mischievous and hidden ways to evade her requirements now and then to get away with as much as he could, though still stay in her good graces.

This time was different, though. He sensed vulnerability. How she might think of herself in relation to others. That she might want to enjoy her life a little bit beyond Prosperity’s standard Stoic lifestyle. A mate. Someone to share her life and thoughts with. Sord wondered what she might be thinking now that Matt had transgressed so openly.

There would always be another Matt, however. She was so good-natured. A great mother. Super sensible. Kind. Guys would always take notice of her. She’d have no problem finding a replacement, if that’s what she really wanted.

“We’ll go together, then. But can I ask again? Why did you mention Dad would be angry?”

Becca opened her eyes and stared at the floor, remembering her deceased husband. “Your father was a decent and kind man, Sord. I can’t say he was a great man, not like a great writer or artist or statesman. Just the kindest person. And he loved his science. Loved living life with us. Loved me. Adored you.”

“Um-hum. He wouldn’t be mad at you for going out with someone else, I mean, after he’s been gone for five years.”

“No, he wouldn’t be unreasonable about that. But I think he’d be mad I let my guard down with Matt.”

“Why?”

She leaned back against the couch and hung her head backward, hoping it would relieve some of the throbbing pain in her cheek. “Because I was feeling sorry for myself, and self-pity is a negative that always leads to other negatives. You know, I saw Matt do other things that I otherwise should have stopped or redirected. But I let him get away with inappropriate or judgmental comments about other people, excusing that he grew up in a brutal world and was simply not yet acclimated or self-aware.”

Sord frowned, thinking his mother showed no evidence of this. “Mom, I don’t ever see you feeling sorry for yourself. You always tell me ‘What happens is what happens’ and ‘Repair that which is repairable, but regret not.’”

“No,” she admitted, “I let Matt get away with things, with his anger, because I wanted a replacement for that fantastic man I lost in an accident, a horrible accident. And I was willing to let my guard down, to rationalize Matt’s angry and violent behavior because I felt lonely and a bit sad. It’s still hard for me to accept what happened to your dad, especially without being able to say goodbye to him.”

Tears fell from Sord’s eyes, and he wiped them away as if she couldn’t see the obvious.

“I know you feel the same, Dearie,” she confided. “It’s very difficult, even after all this time, to sense you missed out on something great. I don’t know. I think of how some people have lived for so long, given all the life extension tech we now have at our disposal. And I imagine you and I could have lived a few hundred more years with him, never tiring. He was that good. So yes, there are moments where I feel sorry for myself and you. Where I break these norms that say we must only allow self-pity and self-absorption for one second. Admittedly, sometimes my seconds tick into minutes.”

Her cheek pounded harder as she began to cry. Sord couldn’t stop either and ran into the bathroom to grab a roll of toilet paper.

“Okay,” she uttered, “we must control this and go see the doctor. Too much pain in my cheek to cry at this moment. I loved your father. You loved your father. He died in the accident. He’s gone, and we don’t get him back. So we had our few seconds of self-pity. Now, let’s get moving.” She started to rise from the floor.

Sord stayed seated. “Mom, I know it’s not right to think this, but you might believe it as well. He was never found nor was the experiment. It possible he’s somewhere else.”

“Don’t go, there, Sord. I can’t bear the thought. It’s difficult enough to move forward and call it for what it was. What it is. He’s gone. An accident of science. Not the first to die in the name of discovery.”

She grabbed his hand to help him up from the floor.