Worlds can be vast and barren. Or they can be small, like the house where our childhood unfolded. Every object, every scratch on the wall, every creaking floorboard reminds us of so much.

  But no matter how much we wish, we can never return to childhood. Yet we can—and must—create a new world. And give everything names.

  “Hurry up!” I shout. “We’ve been waiting forever!”

  “Yes, son?” I turn to the little boy sitting beside me.

  “Why is she always so slow?” he asks.

  A complicated question. There’s so much I could say, so much I could explain.

  “Because she’s a woman.”

  The boy tries to process what he’s heard.

  “Because Mom’s a woman?” he clarifies.

  “Yes.”

  Finally, she steps out. She’s beautiful—unbelievably beautiful. And this new dress suits her perfectly.

  She moves effortlessly, as if she’s gliding. Her beauty is so unique, yet so human.

  “You look stunning!”

  “Yes, Mom. You’re beautiful!” the boy echoes.

  Her face lights up, like a cat that’s had its fill of cream.

  “Thank you, my loves!” she teases the boy.

  “Well, let’s go.”

  “Maybe we should go to the park instead? It’s a nice day, and he wants to ride his bike.”

  “Yes, son?”

  The boy glances between me and his mother, hesitant to choose.

  “This show is very interesting and educational!”

  “You want to learn how cats talk, don’t you? Yes, son?” she asks, her tone encouraging.

  “Do they really talk?”

  “Of course! And today you’ll find out how! And then I’ll buy you ice cream! Want some?”

  “Yes!” the boy shouts excitedly.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I just sigh.

  While the show is on, we relax at a nearby café.

  “This is a silly show. It’ll only give him a distorted worldview.”

  “Oh, you men are such bores!”

  I sip my coffee.

  “Your coffee is better.”

  “Don’t butter me up!”

  She’s learning to live in this new world. Learning to be a wife and a mother.

  “Are you happy?” I ask.

  “You can’t even imagine how much,” she says, leaning into me.

  “And you? Are you happy with me?”

  In response, I kiss her gently.

  “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Back there, I was a goddess. I didn’t know worries. I didn’t know pain. I didn’t know love. I didn’t know happiness.”

  “And what do you think?” she asks, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Is an empty eternity worth fleeting moments of love, happiness, pain, and struggle? Of life? Is it worth living?”

  “I think it is.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder.

  Life has moments of happiness and peace. And this is one of them.

  The show ends, and our son comes out. He looks a bit disheveled. His shirt is untucked, his hands are dirty. And what’s that on his cheek?

  “What is that?!” her voice rings with ice.

  “Where?”

  “Here!” she points to his cheek.

  Yes, lipstick marks. A kiss.

  “Who kissed you?”

  “Girls.”

  “What girls?” her voice starts to tremble.

  I watch the scene unfold with amusement.

  “Well, there were girls…”

  “And?”

  “And they kissed me!”

  “And you let them!”

  The boy stands with his eyes downcast.

  “You let some… girls kiss you!”

  “Calm down, calm down!” I try to defuse the situation. “It’s nothing serious.”

  “Our son is popular…”

  “Shut up!”

  “But…”

  “Shut up!”

  The ride home was silent.

  I’m furious! I have no words.

  Shut up! All of you, shut up!