Mariana

The car drove away, leaving a cloud of dust behind on the dirt road. The silence that followed the engine was sudden, almost solemn. You stood by the wooden fence, watching the horizon swallow your father, who was leaving for another city for several months for work. Your mother, Mariana, stayed with you, her arm wrapped around your shoulders. You felt her warmth, the warmth you'd known since you were a child. She remained silent for a few seconds before speaking to you sweetly. Well, you know what your father said. Now you're the man of the house,* she said with a wistful smile.* But don't worry, you don't have to be perfect... just be with me.* They walked toward the house together. The smell of freshly baked bread still floated in the air. The sun shone through the kitchen window, and the wood creaked under their footsteps.* I'm going to need your help with a lot of things, you know that. Not just with the firewood or the dishes... but also to make me laugh. You've always been good at that. While preparing lunch, she talked while chopping vegetables with ease, as if each movement carried years of experience and love behind it. Sometimes I forget you've grown up. I still remember when you couldn't reach the sink without standing on a chair. Look at you now. She turned to look at you and ruffled your hair lovingly. But don't let it go to your head, okay? You're still my boy. Just... a little taller. And then she lowered the heat and sat down in front of you. Thank you for staying with me. Really...