24

[ARTEMY] (… seven years old)
My mother settled comfortably into the large sofa chair, a book resting on her rounded belly. Her contented expression and gentle smile made her seem at ease. From my spot on the floor, where I diligently sorted my puzzles, I observed her hand moving in slow, circular motions over her stomach.
Inside her womb, my baby sister dwelled, affectionately referred to as a princess by Papa and Mommy. I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t call me a prince. I yearned to be a prince, but being Mommy’s sweet boy felt reassuring.
“Mommy, can I touch the baby?” I asked in a hushed tone. Mommy raised her gaze, her eyes mirroring the same color as mine. She smiled warmly.
“Of course, my love. Come here,” she beckoned, placing her book on the small table beside her.
Excitedly, I sprung to my feet and hurried to her side. Mommy patted her lap, and I climbed up, settling myself comfortably against her chest. She took my hand and guided it to her round belly. The moment my palm connected with her skin, a strong kick greeted me. My eyes widened, and I gasped in astonishment.
“She kicks quite hard,” I whispered.
“You used to kick even harder,” Mommy replied, chuckling.
“Really?” I looked up at her, wide-eyed.
She nodded, emitting a soft hum. “You were such a strong baby.”
“I like being strong!” The baby kicked again, eliciting a smile from me. I couldn’t wait to meet my baby sister. “Mommy, I will always protect the princess!” I exclaimed, gazing in awe at her stomach. Papa always emphasized my duty as her older brother to safeguard her, and I solemnly promised to fulfill that role.
I won’t allow anything to harm the princess, I silently vowed, gently caressing Mommy’s rounded belly with my small hand.
Mommy planted a tender kiss on my temple and began humming familiar melodies. She adored playing the piano and often hummed tunes. It had become our nightly routine. Before bedtime, she would play the piano for a while, her soft humming lulling me to sleep on the sofa.
We sat there for some time until a knock on the door interrupted our tranquil moment. I glanced up eagerly, spotting Papa leaning against the doorway, an amused smile gracing his face as he observed Mommy and me.
“Papa!” I exclaimed loudly, darting off Mommy’s lap and sprinting into his awaiting arms. He lifted me up, enveloping me in a tight embrace. I had missed him dearly during his absence over the past few days, but now he was back.
“Well, hello there, my boy. How are you?” he inquired.
“I’m good. I could feel the princess moving,” I replied, filled with joy at the thought of sharing this experience with Papa.
“Oh, really? I want to experience it too,” he exclaimed with a gentle laugh, leading us back towards where Mommy was seated. We reached the couch, and he stood beside it, looking down at her with a radiant smile. Mommy’s face was adorned with a wide grin, and she seemed at peace as her gaze fixed upon Papa. He tenderly placed his hand on her stomach and inquired, “How is our princess doing?”
“She’s been kicking a lot lately,” Mommy replied, her hand resting on top of his.
Papa set me down and leaned in, planting a kiss on Mommy’s lips. Their embrace lingered for a while, completely oblivious to my presence. I crossed my arms and let out a frustrated sigh. They always did that-getting lost in their own world.
Eventually, Papa pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against Mommy’s. “I missed you, Angel,” he whispered.
Angel. That was what Papa called Mommy. I could never quite grasp why.
Moving forward, I positioned myself on the other side of Mommy. “Papa, why do you call Mommy ‘angel’?”
They broke apart and gazed at me, a smile on Papa’s face and a blush coloring Mommy’s cheeks. Papa crouched down in front of me. “What is an angel?” he asked.
I furrowed my brow in confusion, then shrugged. “Isn’t an angel someone with wings? God’s messenger. They’re nice people who are supposed to help others.”
“Correct. But an angel is also someone who is sweet, kind, caring, and calm. The most beautiful woman on the planet. Someone who is amazing in every way. An Angel is the girl who makes your heart beat faster when she walks into the room. The girl you need wherever you go. The girl who makes you want to be better. An angel is someone who is your rock. The person who you love with your entire heart. The person who you can’t imagine living without.”
I stared at Papa in awe. He was usually a man of few words, and I never anticipated such an elaborate explanation. While he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on Mommy, his eyes shimmering with emotions beyond my comprehension.
“Oh,” I murmured softly, unsure of what else to say. I heard both of them chuckle as I lowered my gaze. Mommy’s laughter was gentle, and I felt a hand on my arm. I glanced up to see Mommy pulling me towards her. Standing in front of her, she ran her fingers through my hair.
“And one day, you will find your angel,” she whispered. Confusion knitted my eyebrows together, and I quickly shook my head.
“But you are my angel, Mommy.”
She gasped softly and then smiled. “My sweet boy.” Shaking her head, she planted a kiss on my forehead. “No, baby, I’m not your angel. Your angel is out there, waiting for you.” She leaned back, cupping my cheek in her palm. “And when you do find her, never let her go.”
“Because if you lose her, then you will forever feel incomplete,” Papa added.
“Will she be like you, Mommy?” I asked, picturing my angel. What would she look like? Would she possess the same beauty and sweetness as Mommy?
“Oh, baby, she might be better than me,” she said, laughing.
“Impossible,” Papa muttered under his breath.
“Hush, Damian,” Mommy scolded, playfully swatting his arm.
Grumbling incoherently, he stood up and pulled Mommy off the couch, then sat back down with her on his lap. He nestled his face into her neck, and I could hear her giggle.
I watched them, shaking my head with a sigh. Once again, I had been forgotten.
Returning to my puzzles, I immersed myself in the game. Mommy and Papa engaged in hushed conversation while I played. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the ringing of the phone interrupted us. I glanced up and saw Papa answering the call.
His expression turned frustrated, and I heard him growl angrily. After a few seconds of listening to the person on the other end, he abruptly hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Mommy asked, soothingly rubbing his chest.
“I need to take care of some things,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Oh, okay then,” Mommy murmured, clumsily getting off Papa’s lap. They both stood up, and Papa wrapped his arms around her, struggling to hug her with her large stomach in the way. Leaning down, he kissed her passionately.
As he pulled back, I caught his whisper, “Love you, Angel.”
“I love you too, Damian,” she whispered back, her voice slightly hoarse. Was she crying?
A pang of concern tugged at my heart. I didn’t want her to cry. Papa kissed her forehead and then turned to me. “Artemy, come here.”
I quickly rose and went to him. He crouched down, locking his gaze with mine. “I have to go away for a while,” he explained.
Confusion furrowed my eyebrows. “Again?”
“Yes. While I’m gone, I need you to be a good boy and take care of your mommy and princess, okay?”
I nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility. “Yes, I will.”
“Good,” he said, planting a tender kiss on my forehead and straightening up. He nodded at Mommy and walked away.
I heard her sigh as she sat back down, rubbing her eyes. “Mommy, why does Papa have to go away so often?”
“It’s his work, baby. Your papa is a very busy man. He has a lot to do.”
I sought comfort in my mother’s arms once again, climbing onto her lap. With a tired yawn, I rested my head on her shoulder, feeling a sense of serenity wash over me. “I want to be like Papa,” I murmured, my voice filled with admiration. “He’s so strong, and everyone respects him. I want to be tough like him.”
Mommy shook her head gently, her expression tender. She cradled my face in her hands and spoke softly, “No, Artemy. You’re not like your papa.” Her touch was warm and reassuring. “You’re not ready to face the harshness of the world. You are my sweet boy, my gentle and kind-hearted boy. And I want you to stay just the way you are.” Placing a tender kiss on my forehead, she whispered, “Let your papa handle the battles.”
I didn’t utter another word. Mommy had a way of making me feel cherished and special. I would always be her sweet boy, and that bond would never waver.
Nodding in understanding, I closed my eyes. Mommy’s soothing strokes on my back eased me into slumber, and before long, sleep overcame me. My dreams were filled with a mysterious figure-an angelic woman with black hair and piercing green eyes.
Little did I know, this would be the last peaceful sleep I would experience. Our lives were about to change forever.