Paint Me Saved ✓ Book 1

30. One and only...

Leonardo

Family get-togethers were rare for us but whenever they did, it was at my mother's behest.

On her fiftieth birthday, all mom wanted was a quiet lunch with her sons. It was easy for me to comply since the only source of distraction at my place went to meet with her father. Within minutes of her departure, I was greeted with a surprise call.

"This call is to inform you about your new schedule, Sergeant. There've been some unusual developments at the war front. Since you have volunteered before, we are reassigning you before the allotted timeline."

My ears rang the news but my vision intensified on Zemira's hairbrush that rested in my room. One tiny thing of hers had the power to make me ponder over my decision.

"Is there any chance-"

"This call is based on your confirmation to be called back in case of urgency, Sir." The voice on the other end sounded apprehensive as if he was taken aback that the man who promised to rejoin whenever asked for suddenly had a life to enjoy. Remorse filled me up, thinking about the promises I would be breaking with Zemira.

"Sir," the operator cleared his throat, driving his point home.

I had no choice. This call was merely a formality.

"How much time do I have?"

"Your reporting will be in a month, sir."

~

Antonio and Dad were busy in meetings to bother with Mother's birthday celebration. So with a bouquet and a neatly wrapped gift that took a whole hour to be pieced together, I drove over to the mansion. 

Unlike all her other social events, Mom didn't want a lot of people around. Truth be told, I felt as if she didn't want to reveal the deteriorated state of her marriage to the world.

Dave Brenton was a stud for the media. He was praised for his philanthropic work, helping the needy and rising to fame through hard work. Only behind closed doors of the Brenton mansion would his worldly attire shed and his true self crawl out.

Our father never cared for anything unless it had an added benefit for him or his business. We, as a family appeared at the bottom of his priority list.

At events and parties, Dad would parade us. Twirl around my Mom like a show dog to denote the blissful state of their marriage and flaunt us - his two well-raised valuables. 

Inside the mansion, we were ignored like the dust that settled in the corners of the house, accumulating over the years till it turned into an eyesore.

Through all the façade, Dave Brenton never once bothered to check if we were indeed a real family. In his hunt for name and fame, he forgot to be a protector; a caregiver.

Mom sat in the hall when I walked in. Underneath the dome-shaped ceiling with crown moldings that fascinated me as a child, I walked into the labyrinth of ottomans and fancy lounge chairs. On one such dark, amber-colored wingback, Mom sat.

She stared at a distance, her rhythmic breathing confirmed her introspection on life itself. Growing up, Mom's laughter used to resonate through the place, submerging us in a state of contentment. As her sons grew up and moved out, she imbibed the silence of the place. Like a chameleon taking up colors from around, Mom draped the color of loneliness, camouflaging into her surroundings.

If I didn't know better, I would say she was slowly losing herself. Unlike those youthful times, she didn't seem resolved to read or write; a heartbreaking thing for someone with a Major in Literature.