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Once the young leave the nest, the chances of them returning are slim to none. And Vinsmoke Sora feels this in her bones, her gaze melancholic as she looks out the window of her residence.
It is a small house, she would say, with second-hand furniture that serves its purpose. It is full of rooms, now empty, never renovated — she hopes the owners will return to occupy the space. But the wallpaper peels off in thin layers of red, blue, and green. She cleans the floor every time, and every time her heart aches.
"I made tea, mom, come have some." Reiju's melodic voice calls out, her right hand touching her mother's shoulder. She hears her mother sigh, her hands clutching her apron with some force. "Sanji made your favorite cookies, you know? Just the way you like them."
Sora is a beautiful woman, even with the small wrinkles and slight dark circles under her blue eyes. It is her age weighing on her, but it is also the sadness that makes her look a little older than she really is.
Reiju takes her mother to the kitchen, where she helps her sit down in a chair. She pours her a cup of tea, adding three drops of sweetener to the drink. It's not hot, not completely, and Reiju pushes it toward Sora.
It's always been like this since Ichiji got married, Niji moved away, and Yonji traveled with no intention of returning. Each of them chose to cut ties with the family. After all, the patriarch died, there were no good enough reasons to stay.
But Reiju and Sanji stayed. And they would stay for many years. Age was just a number compared to the maternal love they wanted to feel for their brief and short existence.
"Your cookies, mom." Sanji offers sweetly, leaving them close to her. She tastes one, very slowly, and smiles slightly. It's something, at least.
"Thank you, my loves."
Sora sips her tea, nibbles on the cookies, and loses herself 50 times in just 30 seconds.
Mother hares want their young to stay there, safe and with them. Their litter is so important, they still have their scent and fragility in their tiny bones. They are delicate, they need care and something that only the nest can offer.
But the babies leave, abandoning her and disappearing into nature. They follow their cycle, their life course. And the mother hare is left behind. And sometimes, defective babies stay with her. Or sometimes, they die before they really grow up.
Sanji has scars all over his body, and Reiju has a problem with her right leg.
The siblings exchange glances, aware of what comes next. And when Sora finishes eating, Reiju helps her change clothes and lies down with her on the huge bed, rocking her mother to sleep.
Sora once did this for her children. And today, it is Reiju who does it. And Sanji, poor thing, is afraid of hurting his mother even more. He loves her, but fears tomorrow. It is inevitable, tomorrow always comes.
"Sweet dreams, mom." Reiju kisses her forehead, covers her with the sheet, and turns off the light in the room.
Sora still understands everything; she is not entirely out of her mind, but the impact of Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji's decisions, all together, has left her in a state of shock. And she still doesn't want to seek help, doesn't want to talk to someone who will listen and understand — she is slowly losing herself in her sadness, and both Reiju and Sanji are afraid of what comes next.
Mother hare, where have you hidden your children? Please tell me.
I just wanted to keep them safe and sound.