I'm scared. Where am I? The man walks across the room. He is young, fit, and makes my heart smile. What is his name? He puts his sweater on the chair, as if the four-legged object were cold. He sits down, puts his feet on the yellow ottoman, and relaxes. His head reclines on his crossed arms and there is a TV remote in his hand. The morning light comes in through the big windows and cuts through the white curtains, who fail to do their job. But this morning is beautiful.
What are those? On the dresser, next to the TV? Photos. Smiling faces. Families. I see them past my feet, covered by the blanket. There are three people, two men and one woman. The man is in them... and I smile. I want to move, but my body feels exhausted and heavy. Where am I?
The man has his back to me as he sits in his chair, and yet I can't look away. My heart beats fast. Momentarily, I am excited, my blood starts pumping, but at the same time, I feel my heart sink, deep, deep into my stomach. My eyes get heavy and at the moment that I blink, a tear is compressed out. The tear follows its path and moves down, down and over the wrinkles of my face before disappearing in the corner of my smile.
I am in my room. This is my house, as it has been for 40 years. I am in those photos, and that is my smile. In one photo, I am next to my husband... and between us is our son. The man sitting down in the chair... Adam. He is my only son. More tears force their way out, and my smile starts to hurt my face. Adam hears my breaths and turns around. He realizes I'm awake. My beautiful boy. He comes to me.
"Mom. Are you awake? Good morning! How did you sleep? It's me, Paul... your son."
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