13. Tristan has a mother?

A blessing in disguise - this may be the simplest way to describe Kristina's life so far.

It had been a month since her transmigration, and she was more or less accustomed to Tristan's body. Fortunately, no bodily function of a man could surprise her anymore. 

Tristan sat in the living room, ignoring his father, who was shouting over a broken glass. That's right; this was nothing out of the ordinary for him. Tristan closed his eyes, trying to block out the unpleasant voice of his father, unsuccessfully.

"Who bought these cheap ass glasses?! Nothing in this house can stay in one piece!" their father shouted over the shattered glass. He shouted like the last string holding together his sanity broke along with the fragile glass.

This was an example of a calmer day in this dysfunctional household. Tristan hardly suppressed the chuckle at the irony of the situation. He leaned backward on the cushion and looked up. The ceiling was hideous. His attention shifted as he heard familiar footsteps, Anne's footsteps. Anne plopped on the couch next to him with a gleeful expression not very suited for the angry outburst of their father. She nudged Tristan lightly, giggling as she pointed at the front door. Tristan swallowed the pain that hit him when Anne nudged him exactly where their father left a mark on him. He could only hope that his ribcage was still intact under that ugly bruise. Before Tristan could ask what made her so joyful, the lock clicked, and the front door opened, revealing a beautiful woman in a flowy dress partially hidden by a long coat.

The woman opened her arms, and Anne ran to hug her without a second thought. 

Only then did Kristina notice - this strangely familiar-looking woman in a flowy pinkish dress resembled Tristan's sister almost perfectly. No, that's not right. Anne resembled this woman almost perfectly; they looked like mother and daughter.

Wait- Is this Tristan's mother? - flashed across Kristina's mind before she heard the shouting of Tristan's father die out.

The woman smiled as she heard the old man approach. 

"How have you been, honey?" their father asked gently in the tenderest voice his vocal cords could produce. "Are they good to you? Are you eating properly? Are you taking your meds? You don't hear them anymore, do you?" he swarmed her with questions; suspiciously sounding questions.

Tristan stood there stiffly, unsure how to act. 

Another person she'll have to deceive, this didn't look good in the slightest. So Tristan did have a mother, after all.

When she possessed his body, and aside from his father, no other parent appeared - she assumed that he didn't have a mother. However, here she was, the true beauty. 

She had long, blond hair sliding down her shoulders like golden strings of the finest silk. Her body is slender yet feminine. Her pinkish flowy dress hugged her figure just enough. She was as pale, perhaps even paler than her children. Tristan stared at her. He stared at her face and its light wrinkles, showing how much she lived her emotions. He stared into her ocean-blue eyes - Anne had the same eyes. She was indeed their mother, there was no doubt.

"They're good to me," their mother answered one of the questions as if this was the only thing they needed to know. 

Anne let go of her mother with a smile. 

Kristina didn't know how to act - she couldn't predict how Tristan would act, yet she felt a weird tingling in her chest. What was that? It was as if Tristan's body left her a clue that would lead her the right way. 

Tristan stood there quietly as a silent witness to this rare occurrence.

What would Tristan do? How would he react? How'd he feel? - Kristina's mind raced with possibilities. She didn't know how to untangle the strange feeling Tristan's body felt when this woman appeared.

And maybe this was for the best; maybe Tristan wasn't the type to act, to express himself. Perhaps he wouldn't do anything - he'd let his father take anger out on him, to leave marks on his body; maybe he wouldn't bat an eye if their mother left and returned as she pleased.

Maybe he preferred waiting for his problems to resolve on their own; perhaps he lived life as a leaf trapped in the wild waters, trying to stay on the surface as long he could before the water drowned him. Maybe he preferred to live in an illusion, a fantasy.

And maybe Kristina wasn't any different. Perhaps she lost her life to these moments of idleness - she drowned once, she cannot drown again.