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Who do you think I’ll be when I grow up?" asked Alexander one late evening.
The room was dimly lit, a single candle casting a warm, trembling light over the worn pages of Rachel’s book. The scent of melting wax filled the air. Outside, the wind whispered softly against the window, brushing the curtains, while the faint ticking of the clock marked the quiet rhythm of the night.
Rachel looked up, studying her son’s curious face. His hair stuck out in every direction, a fiery mess of ginger curls, and his eyes — wide and hopeful — shone with the kind of wonder only children had. His small fingers played absently with the edge of his blanket. She smiled faintly. She wasn’t the kind of person who liked to plan her children’s futures; she would be happy no matter what they chose.
"I think you’ll be a kind man who loves his family very much," she said softly, closing her book with a quiet thud. The candlelight flickered across her face, drawing golden lines along her cheeks. "You’ll have a beautiful wife and children who constantly make you happy and proud."
She could almost see it — her grandchildren excitedly flooding their dad with their accomplishments the moment he barely walked through the door, their mother demanding they give him space, while he laughed, dropping his coat on a chair and telling her it was fine. The image made her heart swell with warmth and ache with longing all at once. She wondered what woman would one day win her son’s heart, and whether her grandchildren would take after their mother or their father. So many mysteries the future held.
"But where would I work?" he asked, sitting up straighter, his blanket slipping from his shoulders.
"Wherever you want," she replied with a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Mom!" he protested, his tone half-playful, half-demanding, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin.
"Alright then," she said, pretending to think deeply, her eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "I think you’ll become a statesman."
Alexander’s eyes widened, his small body leaning forward in fascination. "A statesman? Like someone important?"
"Yes," Rachel nodded seriously. "Someone who listens, understands, and helps others. That’s what truly important people do."
Alexander hesitated, then his expression changed, his voice firm and bright with sudden certainty. "I want to be a soldier," he said.
Rachel’s smile faltered. The laughter that had lingered in the air seemed to vanish. "Are you sure? It’s really dangerous," she said quietly, her words heavy with worry. The warmth in her voice faded, replaced by a chill that came not from the wind, but from fear.
"But soldiers are big and strong, and they protect people, and—"
Rachel stopped listening. The thought of her son going to war was too much for her. Her mind drifted to dark places she didn’t want to see. She imagined Alex lying on the cold ground of a battlefield, her small boy — no longer small — covered in dirt and blood. She saw the envelope in her trembling hands, the seal broken, the words inside announcing her son’s demise. Her throat tightened, and her vision blurred for a moment with tears she refused to let fall.
Her son, oblivious to his mother’s distress, kept talking excitedly about brave fights and shining medals. His voice, full of innocent pride, echoed softly through the dim room.
"But I also like writing a lot," Alex continued, breaking through her thoughts. His voice was bright again, filled with a new dream. "Maybe one day my writings will end up in a newspaper!"
Rachel exhaled slowly, forcing a smile as her heart began to calm. "I hope you’ll manage to be all of those things," she said softly. "Kind, brave, and someone who tells stories worth remembering."
"I promise that I will love you no matter who you become."
"Even when I make mistakes?" asked Alex uncertainly, his eyes searching hers.
"Of course! That’s what mothers are for." She pinched Alexander’s cheek gently, and he burst into a fit of giggles.
Rachel brushed a hand through his hair and watched as his blue eyes fluttered shut. His ginger hair shone in the dim light of the candle, turning copper and gold with every flicker of the flame.
"I love you..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"I love you too," his mother replied, her words trembling with tenderness as she kissed him on the forehead.
For a long moment, she simply watched him — his small chest rising and falling, his lips parted in sleep. The candlelight danced over his face, softening the world around him.
Rachel leaned back, her gaze drifting toward the window where the night pressed close. She couldn’t help but feel worried. She knew they didn’t have much money, that she couldn’t provide Alex with an easy start in life. But she also knew — in that quiet, certain way only mothers know — that he would find his way.
He would rise and he would fall.
He would stumble and stand again.
And one day, she thought, people would speak his name with pride