CHAPTER : 11
After that incident, both Mother and Father started to ask for help when they needed it.
At first, they went almost four to five times a week to get help.
But as time went on, they needed less and less help with the baby.
My Grandma and Grandpa had a hard time because of their behavior.
Sometimes, they even started to question if they should be parents or not.
But it didn't matter how many times or how much help was needed —
both of them just smiled and came to help, without a single complaint.
When I became a year old, they had fewer things to worry about.
Now they could at least sleep comfortably at night.
I think because I traumatized them too much, they didn't try for a second child.
Even when I said I wanted a sister, they simply ignored it.
Time flowed smoothly after that and continued to move forward.
Many seasons came and went — some slower, some faster.
Winter came once again.
But something was different this year.
You know what that is?
Sorry, how would you know anything.
Don't worry — I'm here, and I'll tell you.
This year, I was three years old,
and in two days, I would have my birthday, becoming four years old.
So I came to the market with Mom today.
We had to wear warm clothes,
because the village was colored white by the layer of snow from last night.
Today, we had to buy many things.
So Mom took me with her instead of leaving me at home.
With Mom, we saw lots of things and went to all kinds of stores that day.
Mother held my hand tightly as we walked.
"Don't let go," she said.
"The ground is slippery."
"I won't," I said —
and immediately almost slipped.
She caught me before I fell.
She sighed.
"…I said don't let go."
We went from shop to shop that day.
At the butcher's, the man leaned over the counter and smiled.
"Well, well," he said.
"Is this the birthday boy?"
I puffed my chest a little.
Mother nodded.
"He's turning four."
"Four already?"
The butcher laughed.
"Time really doesn't wait."
He wrapped the meat carefully and handed it over.
"Happy birthday, little one."
"Thank you," I said, very seriously.
At the grocery shop, a woman handed me a small dried fruit.
"For behaving," she said.
Mother opened her mouth to refuse,
but the woman waved her off.
"It's his birthday," she said.
"Let him enjoy."
We bought spices, vegetables, and tools for cooking.
The basket grew heavier with each stop.
Mother adjusted it on her arm and exhaled.
"We're buying too much," she muttered.
"But it's my birthday," I said.
She paused, then smiled.
"…That's true."
The market was loud and warm despite the cold.
People talked, laughed, and greeted each other.
Many of them bent down to my height.
"Almost four already?"
"Growing fast."
"Make sure you behave."
I nodded at all of them.
By the time we started heading back,
Mother looked tired —
but not the exhausted tired from before.
This was different.
This was normal tired.
As we walked toward the village entrance,
Mother adjusted her grip on my hand.
"Next time," she said,
"you're carrying the basket."
I looked at it, then at her.
"…Next time."
She laughed softly.
We were near the village entrance, and Mom saw her friend, so she started to talk
and let go of my hand.
I heard a sound from the entrance of the village
and looked that way.