Page 170 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Because she is so far away, she has no idea about the visitors, and to my astonishment, no guards surveil the property.

Sofia Carrington.

She came to the hospital once, asking how Penelope was and then wanting to talk to me, but I shut it down. I wasn’t ready to face my past with my anger at my grandfather so fresh.

She understood, or at least understood it in her own way, because a day later, I got the notification she sold the family property to the highest bidder, paid her father’s debts, and bought a small house on the outskirts of the city.

A good property with an enormous garden spreading through most of it.

I think she took my words as a rejection of her and put two and two together to build a rather depressing picture for herself.

Where her son knew who he was and never contacted her.

However, how can I explain everything to her? All the shit that happened… based on what Penelope told me and how she suffered, she won’t be able to take it.

I don’t want to be the source of her grief anymore.

Especially when the past cannot be changed, and we won’t get the lost years back.

Thunder rocks the sky once again, bringing me back to the present as I move closer. She is cutting leaves with scissors wearing special gloves to protect her dainty hands. Her dark hair flies in different directions as she shoos the gnats away so they won’t disturb her work.

Stopping far enough away for her to hear me, I stand still as my heart beats so wildly in my chest I’m surprised it’s not on the ground. No words come to me. Nervousness washes over me, my hands sweating as tremors travel through me, because I’m scared.

By default, a mother loves her child when he or she is born.

Will a mother love a son who grew up into a monster?

Right now, I’m not a man in his prime with all the power; right now, I’m a little boy who felt so bad and lonely he wondered why no one loved him and wished him dead.

And that boy is terrified to face such rejection again.

Inhaling much-needed air in my lungs, quietly, I say through the bile in my throat, “Mom.” She doesn’t react, still cutting the leaves, so I try again, a bit louder this time. “Mom.”

Still, it’s not enough, and she flips her hair back when the wind whooshes over her.

Gathering all my willpower and bravery, I clear my throat, and my voice booms through the space. “Mom.”

She pauses cutting midway, stilling in place before slowly turning to me, shock etched on her features while her mouth opens and closes.

She looks at me without blinking, probably wondering if she heard me right.

It takes all my self-control and the resolve acquired through the years to say the next sentence clearly and without wavering. “Mom, I’m home.”

She gasps, the scissors dropping to the ground with a thud, while she takes a single step forward but then one back, casting her gaze down, clasping her hands together and rubbing them nervously.

She whispers something under her breath, scrunches her eyes several times, and shakes her head, refusing to believe I’m standing in front of her.

So I repeat the words again, easier this time, addressed to this woman who should have been a part of my life from the very beginning. “Mom, I’m here.”

“Odysseus,” she whispers and raises her dark eyes to me, so much hope and love filling them I almost feel unworthy of it. “My Odysseus? Are you really here?” She palms her head. “I’m not imagining things?”

Swallowing past the tightness in my throat, I nod. “Yeah. I’m home, Mom.”

She steps forward, extending her hands to me but then pulls them back. She removes the gloves, throwing them down, and moves toward me, her palms covering her mouth all while tears stream down her cheeks.

I do the same, taking one step at a time, in the short distance between us that feels like a lifetime.

Because it took us thirty-one years to finally be able to do this.

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