I sat back against my mother's grave, early morning winds burned my nose like hundreds of minuscule blades at the same time while I just remained there, closer to my mother than I've ever been in my entire life. I never questioned her decisions or the motives she may or may not have had for leaving us; I only ever had one question.

"Did you know dad was going to be so torn up?" I whispered to no one, really. There wasn't a real point in having a conversation, now or before. I was my own man, Antel had become one in his own right not too long ago and we both were willing, even if not always capable, of taking care of Kastalia by ourselves. But... dad was also a man, the head of our family, was he not? "Would it have mattered? Would you have stayed if you'd known?"

Back then, I was the one to tell Antel everything would be fine—tell him that he had to be present, reliable, and keep himself steady for Kastalia... and for dad, too. I was the one to cradle Kastalia back to sleep, even when I couldn't do the same for myself, and feed her a bottle of formula when she was fussy for a woman who's only real presence was in the photos hanging on the walls and sitting on the counters that never met a single speck of dust. And I was the one placing a hand on my father's back, telling him everything was okay, helping him reach his room after his foot gave out on the stairs even after I caught the stench of alcohol all over him.

I was the one to greet mom over at the airfield; to see how they lowered her remains from the plane in a casket, only labeled as «HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE». She never had another family or sought out citizenship in another country; we, back home, were the only family she had. I told Antel to stay home, watching over Kastalia. It was just paperwork, anyway, it had been since dad had received the call and told me to go.
He didn't look at me in the eye, just... begged me to go, then returned to his room.

Just paperwork.

Someone there handed me a clipboard and asked for my signature. The sky bled orange and it was clear enough to see just over a dozen of bright dots scattered above, but the sun was mostly on my face so I can't be sure of the person's gender, and my mind was so foggy that the sound of their voice had been completely filtered out of my senses. I was almost overcome by a compulsion so strange, a feeling unknown to me up to that point or... maybe one I just had forgotten was there and suddenly just came crashing on me like waves on an otherwise undisturbed shoreline. All I wanted then was to reach out and place a hand on my mother's box. Maybe pretend and lie to myself, for a change; think that I could feel her heart beating or listen to her voice one last time.

The person in front of me, wearing that high-visibility vest with the sun directly behind them? All they wanted was my signature. All my mother ever was—for me, my siblings, my father, whoever she met on her travels —, all her life, all her beauty, all her flaws... Reduced to another piece of baggage and a signature.