Once there was a mother, a daughter, and a baby boy living in the woods. On a fine day, the mother took her daughter’s tiny hand and said to her, “Our days have been bleak since your father left and we have nothing to eat but stale crusts of bread. Now, I will search for food so you must take care of your brother and wait for my return.”
The daughter did as she was told, carrying the wailing toddler in her arms while watching the back of their mother fade away, pushing down the dread that she may follow their father’s footsteps.
When night fell without a sight of her and their hunger grew, she carefully halved the last quarter of bread and warmed milk for her brother with her trembling hands. She cradled him to sleep in his room and then lingered for their mother until fatigue drowned her longing into the calmness of sleep.
The sister woke to her little brother’s cries and a gust of wind through the belching doorway of the living room. Hurrying to him, she saw the chaos within and closed the door behind her. She tried to soothe him in his crib, but nothing worked. Unsure how to help him further, she searched for their mother.
The living room was empty save for a rumpled couch and even the bedrooms revealed open, empty cabinets. In the kitchen, only a half bottle of milk remained, barely enough to hush her brother’s hunger. Throughout the day, she held him close in her hands, waiting in vain for their mother to return by nightfall.
By the third day without her, the milk was gone and the winds ravaged their home. She moved them to the small bedroom and braved the woods for food. Weeks slipped by and the living room lay in dust, its lone chair endured the daughter’s sorrowful watch. Time aged them that the toddler, clinging to his sister’s hand, learned to mumble, “Ma–ma? Mam..mam?”
“Yes, she’s looking for our food and she will return,” she replied even when she knew her brother wouldn’t understand yet.
Years passed, and their living room transformed into a garden adorned with an ivy-covered chair at the center. The sister found solace in the nights she spent there, accompanied by fireflies, while her brother slept in his room. During the day, they tended to their garden, which now sustained them.
As the day fell into the night, the brother found the courage to confront his sister, he asked her, “Ate, it’s cold outside, why do you keep sleeping there when you can join me? Come in the bedroom and sleep here.”
“No, bunso,” she replied gently. “Our mother may return and not recognize the house. I must wait here for her,” even though she knew it was false hope. As dusk settled and silence enveloped their small house, the wind grew restless, forcing open the door they hadn’t had the strength to shut.
When they were both sleeping, a thief went inside and ravaged their garden. The sister woke to find everything in chaos and her brother was crying. She was brought back to that first day without their mother. Now, gazing at the mess, exhaustion washed over her and tears flowed for their loss.
“Ate, where is our mother?” her brother asked innocently while they were rebuilding their destroyed garden. “I do not know, I cannot remember.”
That night and in the nights that followed, she slept beside her brother in the bedroom, while a woman’s persistent knocks echoed unanswered at their front door.
Everything shifted when one day, the boy was gathering the day’s fruits while his sister hunted in the forest, and then a woman suddenly appeared at the door, catching him off guard.
“Who are you?” the brother demanded.
“Who are you?” the woman countered, her voice rising. “What have you done to my kids? Where are my children?” She continuously asked as she inched closer to the boy.
Had the sister been the one to see her, she would’ve welcomed their mother with a hug. That day though, the boy had no reconciliation with people other than his sister whom he considered as the only safe person on earth.
As the woman scanned the boy standing in front of her at this hideous house, she recognized him to be her child. Just the same, the boy also acknowledged her, but as a criminal. He hid the scissors which he was using for the garden behind his back and waited in eerie silence for her to come closer.
“Is it you? Are you really my little boy?” she asked with teary eyes and outstretched hands, imploring him for a hug.
“Oh, look how you’ve grown.” The air was tight around them as they held each other eye to eye. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there—”
Her words were cut off by the sudden embrace of her son, blind to the cold press of a scissor at her back. In their uneasy closeness, the boy saw his sister approaching.
For one last time, there was a mother, a daughter and a boy living in the woods. That fine day, the mother took her son’s bloody hands and said to him, “My days have been bleak since I left you. Take care of yourself and your sister.”
