And after that, not a single child in the village wanted to play with me again.
Despite everything, my mother never allowed me to wallow in self-pity or hate myself.
She told me to wear a blindfold—not because my eyes were shameful, but so others wouldn't fear them.
It brought me some peace.
Yet, even with the blindfold, the village children still didn't want to play with me.
Eventually, I had no choice but to spend most of my time at home with my mother.
She became my closest friend and my most trusted confidante.
Now, you might be wondering—if I always wore a blindfold, how did I see anything?
Truth be told, I don't know either. Even with my eyes covered, I could see my surroundings perfectly—sometimes even better than in daylight.
And that wasn't the only strange thing about me.
I looked different from both my parents.
For example, my white hair.
According to them, no one in either of our family lines had ever been born with white hair.
I stood up, pulled on my white shirt, rolled up the sleeves to my forearms, and slipped into a brown vest and matching shorts before stepping out of my room.
As soon as I left, the first thing I noticed was the sweet aroma of breakfast wafting from the kitchen.
My mother was unmatched when it came to cooking.
I walked toward the kitchen door, drawn by the smell. As always, she'd gotten up early to prepare something delicious for me.
"Good morning, Mom!"
This was my mother—Aurora. She was thirty-two years old.
She'd met my father at the age of nineteen, fallen in love, and married him.
I was born when she turned twenty.
Honestly, they never told me the story of how they met or fell in love. It was something they always kept secret.
Now, it's just the two of us—my mother and me—living on the edge of the village.
Why just the two of us?
Because my father left us six years ago.
To be honest, I hate remembering it.
Sometimes, I wonder if I was the reason he left.
"Good morning to you too! Come sit down," she said, placing a bowl of food on the table with her usual warm smile.
"You seem a little off today. What's wrong?"
She must've noticed the sadness on my face.
"Everything's fine. I just had a bad dream… about Dad."
Every time I mention something negative about him, she always defends him.
Even though he left us, she still loves him—and believes he'll come back one day.
I've told her countless times that he's not coming back, but she always says the same thing:
"He just had something important to take care of. He'll come back once he's done."
Honestly… I've given up hope.
I no longer believe in that.
"He was in your dream again, wasn't he?" she said.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Your father didn't abandon us. He just left for work."
"If that's true, then why hasn't he come back in six years? You don't even know if he's alive!"
Those same old words.
Words I'd heard a thousand times before.
And hearing them again irritated me so much that I raised my voice without thinking.
I shouldn't have done that.
My mother began to cry.
I'd made her cry—again.
She still held on to hope, and here I was, trying to crush it.
[I messed up. I have to apologize.]
"You're right. I don't know what he's doing or where he is right now.
But I believe in him. I believe he'll come back."
Her unwavering faith in my father always stunned me.
And the fact that I, her son, had shattered that faith—made her cry—made me feel like the worst child imaginable.
[I have to apologize. Now.]
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I ruined your morning."
"I'm not upset with you. I understand how hard it is without your father.
That's why I'm not mad."
I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Her kindness and forgiveness always amazed me.
No matter how many mistakes I made, she always forgave me.
"I wanted to give you something for your birthday."
Oh… right.
It was my birthday today.
We lived a modest life.
Neither of my parents came from wealth or left behind a grand inheritance.
So hearing her say she had a gift for me was a surprise.
"Really? What is it?"
She slowly removed the pendant from around her neck and fastened it around mine.
[Wait… why is she giving me a woman's pendant?]
"Mom, isn't this a woman's accessory?"
"Take a closer look," she said.
I looked at it.
It was a dark ring with a diamond-shaped carving in the center.
Clearly something designed for a man.
[Strange… why was Mom wearing a man's pendant all this time?]
"Where did you get this?"
"Your father gave it to me on my birthday. And now… I'm giving it to you."
"Why a man's pendant?"
"He forgot it was my birthday that day. He didn't have a proper gift, so he gave me this.
The next day, he bought me a bracelet."
She held up the one on her wrist with a smile.
She chuckled as she told me the silly little story.
[Seeing that smile on her face… is such a comfort.]
"Mom, how did you and Dad meet anyway?"
"Emmm… oh, right. We better eat before the food gets cold."
She dodged the question again—like always.
To this day, she's never answered it.
[Why won't she tell me how they met? Could there be some kind of secret?]
"Mom, the food's delicious—as always."
"Thank you. Since it's your birthday, I'll cook you something really special today.
But we're out of firewood. Could you go fetch some?"
"Sure thing!"
My wonderful mother must be planning something extra tasty for today.
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