The morning passed like a dream.
The beautiful child in her pajamas, the messy room with a faint smell of foot odor, a warm scent of freshly made breakfast, and the nuances of a life he had forgotten long ago.
His mother, younger and more beautiful than he remembered, prepared pancakes while humming a song. The first time he heard it, he thought it was Mozart, but it was actually I Want It That Way, by the Backstreet Boys — someone famous he clearly didn't recognize.
His sister, already in her school clothes, looked at him in a strange way. Sometimes she pouted, sometimes she stared at him with doubt. Every movement he made seemed to be under the scrutiny of the little girl.
— Brother, did you have a nightmare?
Her small face showed deep curiosity.
A nightmare…
he thought.
That was worse than a nightmare.
For a brief moment, those memories tried to haunt him again, but as an experienced warrior, he wouldn't let himself be shaken. Taking a deep breath and putting his thoughts in order, he answered:
— Yes… your brother had a nightmare.
He explained with a bitter smile.
— Brother, you're already big and you still have nightmares… let your sister help you.
Her small smile lit up the room. Her light and quick steps brought her to him, positioning herself behind him to hug him, but her small body couldn't reach his neck. So she gave up and went to the couch, gesturing for him to follow her.
Paul, with a much more genuine smile, looked at her without really understanding her goal.
He stood up, went to the couch, and sat beside her.
She looked at him with a serious face and said, with unquestionable authority:
— Sit more to the side.
Curious, he obeyed.
Then, small hands pulled him down, making him lie on the couch and rest his head on her small legs.
She then ran her hand through his hair, gently stroking it. Leaning down to his ear, she said:
— It's okay… I'm here… nothing is going to hurt you. You're safe.
Safety, affection, and love… things he had forgotten long ago.
But there, in his home, using his sister as a pillow and feeling true peace, he wanted to cry.
Men don't cry… but anyone would cry if they had gone through what he — and thousands of others — had gone through.
While hiding his face so he wouldn't scare his sister, he cried in silence.
And she kept whispering in his ear:
— Everyone here loves you… there's no boogeyman… no sack man… and if they exist, I'll defeat them for you…
That sweet and strong little girl…
How intelligent she was.
She was doing exactly what he had done for her countless times.
— "The moon has already put on its pajamas…" — the song began.
— "The wind whispers: shhh, shhh…
There is nothing else calling you,
Sleep comes slowly…"
In the past — which now felt very distant — that was the only song that could make her sleep after her nightmares.
And now…
She was using that same song to calm him.
At some point, with the girl's soft and melodic voice, he felt ashamed.
Ashamed not of what he was doing — he was human, and humans have emotions — but of what had been happening to him since his end.
He had let himself be consumed by memories, by trauma, by sorrow.
He had become exactly what had led millions of men and women to their deaths.
To live in the past is to live in an invisible prison, losing focus on the present.
The peace and quiet of that moment allowed a weakness he had never permitted himself to have to take hold of him, even if only for a moment.
And that was the source of his shame.
In his lifetime, he had learned that words have power.
"The past is the past, and those who live in the past belong in a museum. My life is for my family. My present is the now, and the now is far better than the past."
His now was his sister, still gently stroking his hair.
His now was his mother, in the distance, in the kitchen, humming a song while making more pancakes.
His now was himself… his new life… his chance to make a change.
Taking a deep breath, his tears stopped.
Taking a deep breath, the memories faded.
Taking a deep breath, his emotions came under control.
Taking one last deep breath, he turned his head to look at the girl.
— Are you better, brother?
Seeing the worried look on his sister's face, and knowing his eyes were probably still a little red, he felt ashamed again.
Ashamed for making that little angel worry.
With an embarrassed but genuine smile, he answered:
— Your brother is better… thank you, my angel.
That answer filled her with happiness. Brushing her hand near his ear, she said gently:
— I'm here for you…
But the moment didn't last long.
Her gentle voice suddenly changed:
— You're better? Then get off, you heavy idiot! My legs are dying!
Caught off guard, Paul had forgotten that this little angel was also a little devil.
He lifted his head, picked her up, and hugged her warmly as he said:
— My little angel is in a hurry to—
Before he could finish, she looked at him in shock… then a mischievous smile appeared on her face.
Pretending to hug his arm…
She bit him.
— AHH! You little devil!
He jumped up, looking at the bite mark on his arm.
Today, he was being caught off guard too many times.
Or maybe… being at home, with his family, had softened his survival instincts.
He didn't know.
But one thing was certain…
It hurt.
It felt worse than when he was bitten by a plague hound — and that cursed beast had torn off his right arm.
He looked at the child, already planning to get revenge with a tickle attack…
But she was already under their mother's protection.
— Dear mom, is it almost ready?
As she spoke, she looked at her brother with a victorious expression.
— Are you two done?
Inside that house, nothing escaped their mother's attentive eyes.
Paul walked toward the kitchen, drawn by the smell of pancakes with syrup, but what truly caught his attention was her.
A widowed woman with two children.
She works.
She takes care of the house.
She cooks.
She even helps with studies.
That superwoman… his mother… was much younger than the last time he saw her.
Black hair falling to her shoulders, attentive green eyes, and a warm smile.
When she saw him approaching, she smiled — and that smile brought back old memories.
One of the most memorable was when he, as a child, went to an amusement park and rode a roller coaster for the first time.
Don't get it wrong… he loved it.
But it became unforgettable because it ended up on TV:
"A child vomits in public during ride."
Truly memorable.
Paul looked at his mother, a little emotional. He approached, moved the pans out of instinct, and then hugged her tightly, as if trying to make sure her touch, her scent, and her voice engraved themselves into his heart.
— My baby wants some affection too, huh?
She replied, wrapping him in a tight hug, gently stroking his back.
Maya, with a slight pout, hugged them from the side.
Paul just smiled.
The family warmth didn't last long, but for him, it was enough to recharge.
As they pulled away, his mother noticed the bite mark.
— Oh… that's strange. We don't have any pets.
She said, looking at the mark and then at the girl, as if measuring the injury.
— It's fine, mom… revenge will be complete…
He said with a smile.
But she gave him a serious look.
— In this house, we don't take revenge.
Then, looking at the girl:
— Go get the first aid kit.
— Yes, mom! I'll clean it too!
The child moved quickly, hoping that being proactive would help her escape punishment.
At that moment, Paul began to remember more of his peaceful life.
He knew…
This had happened before.
It wasn't the first time.
And it wouldn't be the last.
This time…
He would hold on to it.