Cal Faros stood in the garden like a man who had learned to wear confidence the way others wore clothes. The white suit fit him perfectly, the red-tinted glasses hiding his eyes, his hands resting casually in his pockets as if nothing in the world could reach him. Around him, laughter and perfume lingered. Three women pressed close, each drawn to a different version of the same man—his charm, his mystery, his power.
But the house behind them was watching.
Rita Faros stood at the top of the mansion steps, arms crossed, her posture rigid with restraint. The breeze lifted her hair, but her expression didn’t move. This was her home. Her legacy. And the son she had raised now stood below, turning her garden into a stage.
Cal felt her before he saw her. He always did. A tightening in his chest, a flicker of irritation masked by a crooked smile. He didn’t turn around. Not yet. Turning would mean acknowledging what he was avoiding.
To him, this moment was freedom—proof that he belonged to no one, that he could live unanchored, untouched by expectation. To Rita, it was something else entirely. A boy pretending to be untouchable, surrounded by distractions because he was afraid to stand alone.
The women sensed the shift. The laughter softened. Someone glanced back toward the steps. No one spoke.
Rita didn’t shout. She didn’t move. She simply stood there, disappointment sharper than anger, letting silence do what words never could.
Cal finally turned his head just enough to meet her gaze through the tinted glass. For a heartbeat, the suit, the charm, the game—all of it slipped. What remained was a son who knew exactly why he couldn’t settle down, and a mother who knew he would have to learn the cost of that choice on his own.
Then Cal smiled again, and the moment passed.
Mother Knows the Green
Rita watched the ball disappear across the green, its path clean and certain, and for a moment she said nothing. Albort stepped back politely, already knowing this was not a conversation meant for him. Cal stood beside his mother, club resting against his shoulder, his smile easy, practiced.
“You swing like you don’t care where it lands,” Rita said at last. “That works in golf. Not in life.”
Cal sighed, half amused, half irritated. “Here we go.”
She turned to him then, really looked at him, the way only a mother can—past the charm, past the suit, past the careless confidence. “I’ve seen the women you surround yourself with. Ambition, beauty, secrets. You call it freedom, but it looks more like noise.”
“They’re just companions,” Cal replied. “Nothing serious.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Rita said calmly. “Nothing is ever serious. You keep everyone at arm’s length so no one can hurt you. Or expose you.”
Cal’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.”
Rita smiled sadly. “I understand more than you think. I know what it’s like to live with danger, to love someone knowing the world might take them from you. But love isn’t a weakness, Cal. Running from it is.”
He looked away toward the mansion, the house that had watched him grow up, that had seen too many late nights and too many empty mornings. “Settling down means giving something up.”
“Yes,” Rita said softly. “It means giving up the illusion that you can live alone forever. And in return, you gain something steadier than thrill. Someone who stands when the parties end and the masks come off.”
The wind moved through the trees. Cal said nothing.
Rita placed a hand on his arm, firm but gentle. “One day, you’ll be tired of being admired and want to be known. When that day comes, I hope you don’t realize you’ve already pushed the right person away.”
She stepped back, leaving him with the quiet and the weight of her words. Cal stared out across the green again, but this time the horizon didn’t look quite as open as it had a moment before.
Rita Faros spent the day at Cal Mansion the way she always did when she was determined to reclaim time from the noise of the outside planet—deliberately, gracefully, and on her own terms.
The morning began in the indoor pool, where sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling and painted the water in soft blues and golds. Rita moved through the pool with calm strength, her red swimsuit cutting clean lines through the water as she swam lap after lap. There was no hurry in her motion, only control. At the edge of the pool, Cal Faros sat quietly, his feet submerged, watching her with an expression that mixed admiration and thoughtfulness. He said little, and Rita didn’t need him to. This was a shared silence—mother and son occupying the same space without performance, without defenses. When she finally surfaced and rested her arms on the edge, she smiled at him, and for a moment he was no billionaire, no vigilante—just her boy again.
As evening settled over the mansion, the atmosphere shifted. The dining room glowed with candlelight, reflections dancing across polished wood and crystal glassware. Rita had changed into a black gown, elegant and understated, the kind that carried authority without demanding attention. Cal sat across from her, relaxed but attentive, holding a glass of wine as if the ritual itself mattered more tonight. Behind them, Albort moved with quiet precision, serving the meal as he always did—present, respectful, and unobtrusive. Conversation flowed gently, touching on memories, small observations, and unspoken concerns. Rita listened more than she spoke, her gaze steady on Cal, as if weighing how much of her advice he was finally ready to hear.
Later, the mansion grew quieter still. In the entertainment room, Cal settled into the sofa, the weight of the day easing from his shoulders. Rita stood nearby, still in her gown, the room lit warmly around her. When she began to host to sing, her voice filled the space—not loud, not performative, but rich with feeling. It was a song meant for one listener. Cal watched her, the edge in his expression softening, as if the melody was reaching parts of him that words never could. For Rita, it was a gift: a reminder that strength could be gentle, that love didn’t always need instruction.
By the end of the night, Cal Mansion felt less like a fortress and more like a home. Rita had swum, dined, and sung her way through the day—not to control her son’s choices, but to remind him that beneath the freedom he chased, there was something steadier waiting for him, whenever he chose to reach for it.