A week and three days had passed before Egemed finally returned home. The moment his voice drifted through the doorway, Heryl burst out of the kitchen, eyes shining with excitement.
"Welcome back! I've been waiting for you every single day!" Heryl cried.
Egemed laughed softly and held out the backpack. "Really? Here… I kept my promise. Do you like it?"
Heryl gasped. "It's even cooler than I imagined!"
Egemed ruffled his hair. "I'm glad you like it."
Heryl threw his arms around him, squeezing tight. "Thank you… I'll treasure it forever."
Egemed giggled and turned to his mother. "I brought some fruit. They're still fresh."
"Apples, oranges and papaya?" she said, her face warming. "Your father's favorites."
"I met him this morning. He asked me to bought them."
They talked for a moment until Egemed looked at Heryl.
"Did you do what I told you?" he smiled
"Yes! And Father bought me chocolate every day when he came home," Heryl said proudly.
"Good. But remember—love him even if he doesn't bring chocolate, alright?"
"I will!" Heryl nodded.
Their mother asked about the city—its life, people, and whether he had met anyone new.
Egemed paused, remembering the beggars and homeless he had befriended.
"Yes… I met many new friends," he said softly. "They were very kind, even though they have nothing."
"You should introduce them to me someday," she said.
He hesitated and paused for a moment, remembering all his friends
He replied calmly,"You might not like them."
"What do you think I am?" she demanded, though her tone held a smile.
Egemed smirked, dodging the question. "You Mother...You're the most beautiful woman I've ever fallen in love with. The only woman I want to marry."
An orange flew at him instantly. Their mother's laughter filled the room as Egemed dodged and bolted down the hallway.
"You flirt with your own mother! Come here!" she yelled, laughing.
"I didn't! But I love you, Mother!" Egemed shouted back, sprinting toward his room. Heryl help! Mother's gonna kill me.
Heryl stared for a moment, shocked—then grinned wickedly.
"That's what you get!" he shouted. "I'm on Mother's side! Come out of that room and I'll help her to hold your neck while she cuts your throat!"
Most people would hear nothing unusual in that sound—just a soft, composed laugh that could pass for warmth.
But Egemed had grown up with that laugh.
He knew the layers under it, the warning folded quietly between her breaths.
From inside his room, Egemed yelled, "Heryl! Look behind you—run!"
Heryl, though, was different.
He always took things at surface level, never noticing the subtle changes in their mother's voice. So when he carelessly muttered "cut someone's throat," his voice crude and shameless, Egemed already felt the room twist.
He knew instantly—Mother won't like that.
He didn't need to look at her to understand it. Her laugh had already changed.
And then it happened.
Their mother hurled the oranges at Heryl, the fruit hitting his arm with a dull thud.
It wasn't fear or shock that moved her—it was disgust.
Not at the violence in the words, but at the lack of grace, the filthiness of the tone.
That was something she never tolerated.
Heryl rubbed his arm, looking confused and offended.
"Why did you throw that? I was just saying—"
But Egemed only sighed, his expression calm, almost resigned.
He had known the outcome the moment the words left Heryl's mouth.
He could read his mother's intentions long before she acted.
He understood her tone, her mood, her boundaries—things Heryl never cared to learn.
To him, this wasn't surprising at all.
It was simply his mother being exactly who she was.
"Ow! Mother… sorry for my filthy mouth…" he muttered dramatically, clutching his hand as he laughed again.
Egemed burst into loud, helpless laughter from his room—laughter the house had never heard from him before.
Heryl leaned toward their mother and whispered, "I've never seen Brother this happy… maybe we should tease him like this more."
She smiled softly. "He's always so calm… he smiles, but never like this."
Night settled over the house, carrying the echo of Egemed's laughter like a warm lantern glow. It was the first time his voice had ever risen above its gentle softness.
Later, when their father arrived, Egemed greeted him at the door, still glowing.
"You're back!"
"I am." His father blinked. "You look unusually cheerful. Where's Heryl?"
"In the kitchen, helping Mother."
"What happened?" his father asked
From the kitchen, Heryl shouted,
"He's happy because Mother threw oranges at him for flirting with her!"
Egemed groaned with laughter. "But you married her first, Father… so I lost, didn't I?"
His father chuckled heartily as he bent down to untie his shoelaces.
Night came, and the four of them sat down for dinner together. After the meal, Egemed washed the dishes, tidied his parents' beds, and went to sleep, his heart full from the laughter and warmth of being home.