Forbidden Deception (Deception)

27

Age sixteen

E veryone craves love. We all want to be seen and loved.

I’ve come to accept that maternal love maybe isn’t in the books for me. I call my mother by her name. Dakota. Dakota Gustav. My father’s second wife.

A mother is someone who helps you up when you fall, treats your wounds, and heals you with her heart. A mother is someone who teaches you love, compassion, someone who pushes you beyond your limits but stands right behind you in case you fall.

A mother is your companion in figuring out life.

And yet, watching Dakota dote on Eiran and Khyros makes me want to try once more.

Just once more, despite the many failed attempts.

She’s giving them the presents she has brought from her trip to the Philippines. Boxes upon boxes of gifts.

Mikko and I stand by the kitchen island watching her fuss over her two biological kids.

Knowing my mother died in childbirth was bad enough, but then the second woman Dad married literally forgot the reason he married her. To be a mother figure for me and Mikko too. I guess Steve Gustav didn’t make that good of a decision when looking for a wife.

A hurried decision is usually not a good one.

The woman from across me is a great example of a bad, hastily made decision. Though her hair is neatly styled and she wears stacked bracelets worth over ten grand on her wrists, the money and luxuries her actual reason to marrying dad, the bitter smile on her face is one I have seen far too often. She seems to be enjoying this little roleplay they have going on.

“Did you know Mum used to paint?” Mikko says quietly, stealing my attention.

I turn to find him tending to the sunflowers he picked from our garden earlier. We have so many planted that it covers a good portion of our extensive garden. It requires two gardeners alone to maintain the field of sunflowers that has been here since I was born.

Dad goes to visit it at least twice a day.

“Paint?” I repeat, unsure of where the conversation is heading.

“Yes, flowers. Sunflowers, in fact, were her favourite.” He nods towards our right, where the doors have been pushed to one side, revealing a big field of sunflowers.

“It’s the reason Dad has kept them alive for all these years.” Mikko matured much earlier than he should have. With his sharp eyes, slim features, Mikko looks like he has seen everything.

My brother has been there for me for my whole life, as has my father. Loneliness is is an afterthought when they are constantly in my space, but whenever I see Dakota, all that happiness evaporates like it means nothing.

I want dad and Mikko’s efforts to mean something. I want my heart to fully accept that Dad and Mikko, even Eiran and Khyros, care about me and that Dakota’s opinion of us doesn’t matter, but all this foolish organ does is burn and break.

“Why do you think our old man waters them himself every morning and has two gardeners just to tend to them?” Mikko rolls his eyes like this was common knowledge, but I didn’t know.

I thought he liked sunflowers, but now the paintings in the hallway upstairs make sense.

Many are of Mum holding bouquets of sunflowers, and again, I had barely thought about them despite walking past them day after day.

My chest constricts once more.

I don’t know anything about her.

“That’s also why she often painted in her room, but Dad hung her paintings around the house. He was proud of them and her. Dakota sometimes glares at them, though. I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to take them down.” He huffs out a laugh, stealing a glance at me.

I drop my gaze to the counter in front of me.

A memory hits me, and I snap my head up, only to find Mikko smirking.

My heart races, and I jump from my stool and run out of the kitchen, past the living room, and straight upstairs to the second floor. I am huffing, out of breath, by the time I reach Mum’s painting studio. I flick through her paintings until I find one stashed in the corner where all her canvases are.

I pick up the medium sized canvas. My chest heaves.

Tears coat my eyes.

At the bottom right corner of the painting is the title: Rafael

A choked gasp escapes me when I take in the painting once more. It’s a painting of a dark sky where a small sunflower is sprouting under a single taller sunflower. It’s raining, but the larger flower’s petals are covering the little one.

I visit this studio so much, never realising that Mum did leave me pieces of her. She left me pieces made solely for me.

I drop to my knees, too weak to hold myself up anymore.

Crawling on my knees, I place the painting aside and look through them once more. I find another. This time, I remember the first time I saw it. The painting is of a field of flowers under a rainy sunset, but if you look closer, my name is spelled with the leaves attached to each stem of the flowers.

My chest tightens, and breathing becomes arduous.

A tear slides down my face.

The door behind me creaks, and I glance up at my brother.

“Thank you,” I croak, looking at the paintings through my blurred vision.

“She’s still here, in the sunflower field. I visit her, you visit her, Dad visits her. She hasn’t left, Rafael; you just need to know where to find her.” Mikko’s voice filters through the quiet studio, and soft rays of sunshine peek through the clouds outside and dance across the polished wood floor of the studio.

“Dakota loves her sons, and so does Sierra, our mom. Trust me.”

I frantically nod, taking a refreshing breath like life has been pumped into me once more.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”