"Dad?" The son rasped out, no longer bleeding. His father's eyes brightened up as he turned his head to face his son.

"Son!" His father yelled out. The boy groaned as the father provided him with a glass of warm water. The boy drank it.

"Dad? What are you-"

"I broke in," the father cuts, pointing to the broken door. The son nods as he continued to drink.

"Thanks," he said as he put the glass down, but the father didn't say anything, causing the son to furrow his brows. Surely he'll say something, won't he?

"Will you tell me why is there a statue of your mother here?" His father asked, his eyes gazing at 'her' body. "And why are you bleeding all over?"

"Dad..."

"Is it a practice of witchcraft?" His father asked again. "Your mother is dead- you of all people should know that."

He knew that.

"Why do you have a statue of her?"

"It's not her statue," the boy interjected. "It's her body, I made it."

"You made your mother's body?" His father asked, wide-eyed as he shook his head in bewilderment. The boy nodded. "Why?"

"I will have her resurrected," the boy had answered with absolute certainty laced in his voice. "She will live again, she will walk among us again."

"Son-" his father had his hand touching the boy's shoulder in an overprotective manner. "Your mother is gone-"

"I will change that."

"Listen to me!" His father had yelled but then took a deep breath in and exhaled. The son flinched, hearing his father yelled. "Your mother is gone. She's in a different world with us. She's probably reborn already. You do remember samsara, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Let her go." His father advised. "Even if she's back, it's not going to be the same. What makes you think you'll treat her the same as if she never died?"

"What makes you think I won't?" The boy shot back. His father sighed.

"I won't be the judge of that." His father brushed his hand along his son's cheek. "I know that no life is the same after a life-changing event."

"What are you saying?"

"Let her go," his father continued. "Don't you see? This is harming you! Even if she lives again, she will only hate what you have done-"

"Why?"

"Because she hates the idea of you hurting yourself!" His father answered, his own voice wavy. The boy had never heard the voice of his father sounding so scared, so vulnerable. "Honour her wish, Son. Don't resurrect her."

"She wouldn't wish for you to remarry."

"She would wish for us to have a life outside her," his father explained. "She would hate it if we stay here all the time, moping about her death. She would want you to have adventures, she would want you to fall in love, she would want you to have your own life."

His father kissed his temples. The boy closed his eyes as he enjoyed the little affection his father rarely ever showed.

"She would want you to be happy."