He looked away, the silence stretching until it felt too heavy to bear. His voice, when it came, was quiet… almost hollow.
"People used to say my mother was bright. Like sunlight. Always smiling, always laughing. But after that night… that light vanished. Her eyes—" he paused, swallowing hard, "they lost all their warmth. She was never the same again. Her family… they never found her."
His fingers fidgeted unconsciously at his side, betraying the storm inside.
"She became the most admired woman in the tribe… but inside, she was breaking. She never forgave my father. And she could never forgive herself either—for surviving… for staying."
He took a shaky breath, like the words had been trapped in his chest for too long.
"But I heard her crying sometimes, late at night. And a few days before she died… she finally spoke to me, not because someone told her to, not because she had to—but because she wanted to."
His eyes glistened as he forced the next words out.
