This is the story of Scott Sawyer, a man who changed the destiny of humanity, someone who perfectly understood the value of life and true happiness.
It was a quiet winter day, snow falling softly on rooftops and silent streets, covering everything with a white mantle. Inside the hospital, calm reigned in the delivery room until the cry of a newborn filled the air, a fragile sound but full of life.
General Richard Sawyer, a tall, corpulent man, stood motionless in a corner of the room. His uniform, impeccable and adorned with insignias, reflected a life dedicated to service. The white dress shirt contrasted with the dark tone of his jacket, rigid like his posture. His icy gaze, blue as an ocean in a full storm, rested on the little one with indifference. Barely a slight frown, as if evaluating a new recruit. He felt no pride or joy, only a cold acceptance of the responsibility he had just acquired.
Elizabeth Sawyer, on the other hand, radiated a happiness that eclipsed the coldness of the room. She had eagerly awaited that moment since she knew she was pregnant. Every kick, every change in her body reminded her that her child was growing inside her, a new life, a new hope. And now, holding him for the first time, all the pain, all the waiting, was worth it. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her light blue eyes, soaked in tears, reflected the emotion of an unconditional love, a love that was already a shield. She kissed her son's forehead with absolute devotion, feeling his warm, tiny skin against hers.
He was a baby with fair, soft skin. His eyes shone under the dim light of the room, and on his head, a thin layer of dark hair was barely visible. His tiny body trembled slightly, too new to understand the coldness of the world around him, a coldness he would soon come to know.
"Welcome to the world, my love," Elizabeth whispered, her voice broken by emotion. "I promise I will always love you."
But a mother's love, however immense, was not enough to protect him from the reality that awaited him. Since he gained consciousness, Scott understood that his home was not a refuge, but a battlefield. The house they lived in was not a mansion, as many might imagine of the home of a man with Richard Sawyer's rank. No, he never spent his money on comforts for his family; he preferred to allocate it to other personal pleasures and whims. The Sawyer home was an ordinary construction, without luxuries or grand spaces, but that did not prevent its walls from witnessing incendiary arguments and accumulated resentments that corroded the atmosphere.
Some memories are never erased, and that night, when Scott was barely seven years old, was burned into his memory.
The scream woke him abruptly. His body trembled before he even understood what was happening. He slid out of bed and walked fearfully down the hallway, a chill running down his spine. His heart pounded so hard he felt it would burst from his chest. From the half-open study door, he saw them… and knew that nothing would ever be the same. The air vibrated with an unbearable, premonitory tension.
"You are a weak woman, Elizabeth. You're always crying! Always so fragile, so useless," Richard shouted with contempt, his voice laden with the fury of a man who knew no compassion. "All you know is to lament. Don't you realize this world isn't for women like you?"
Elizabeth, with trembling hands and ragged breath, looked up at him. But it wasn't fear that reflected in her eyes, but contained rage, pain accumulated after years of humiliation.
"And what are you, Richard?" she responded with a broken, but surprisingly firm voice. "A coward. A man who needs to raise his hand against a woman to feel powerful. You don't know what it is to be strong. You don't know what it is to love."
"Enough!" Richard exclaimed; fury contained on the verge of overflowing. "This makes no sense. I don't want to continue with this farce. We're getting a divorce."
Elizabeth looked at him with a mixture of surprise and an almost dizzying relief. For years she had feared that moment, but deep down she desired it.
"For the first time in your life, you made a smart decision," she whispered, her voice trembling, but a new firmness had ignited in her eyes.
Richard's face hardened with anger, the muscles in his jaw tensed. Without warning, his fist clenched in fury and crashed into her face.
"Mommy!" Scott cried, feeling his heart stop for an instant, the air freezing in his lungs.
Elizabeth fell to the floor with a choked gasp. Her lips trembled with pain, a trickle of blood oozed, but her gaze, fixed on Richard, did not break.
Time seemed to stop when he saw his mother collapse. Scott couldn't let him hurt her. Not this time. Without thinking, he ran and stood between them, his small arms outstretched as if that could stop the world, stop the blow, stop him.
"Don't hurt her!" he cried with a mixture of childish fear and a rage that overwhelmed him.
But before he could say anything else, he felt a searing impact on his cheek. He fell to the ground with unbearable pain. However, the worst was not the blow or the burning sensation on his soft skin, but Richard's gaze, his father's. Filled with contempt and an absolute coldness that chilled him to the bone.
"Don't get involved in adult matters," Richard said harshly, his voice as flat as a wall of ice.
Scott tried to hold his gaze, to find some sign of remorse for what he had just done to them, but the intensity in his eyes forced him to take a few steps back. His breathing became shaky. Richard snorted, as if the scene were a minor annoyance, took his coat, and left the house with heavy steps, the echoes resonating in the silence. And without looking back, he left.
Elizabeth, in pain, dragged herself to her son and hugged him with all her might, covering him with her own sorrow. Her voice, broken and ragged, came out in a desperate whisper, like a plea to heaven.
"My love, please, don't do this... Don't confront him. I don't want him to hurt you," she said, tenderly stroking Scott's burning cheek, the mark of cruelty on his skin. "I've learned to endure it, to survive, but you don't have to. You are my child, my life... And I won't let him destroy you as he has destroyed me."
Scott buried his face in her chest, trembling, his body small and vulnerable, but his soul ignited with a determination that would never disappear.
His mother enveloped him in an embrace, cradling him with a love that tried to be a shield, though both knew they couldn't always protect themselves from the world around them, from the cruelty that lurked.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
The next morning, Scott's father returned with the same coldness as ever. He did not knock gently on the door or show signs of hesitation. He knocked firmly, three times, as if that house still belonged to him. Scott shuddered upon hearing him, but had no time to react. Richard entered without invitation, his steps resonating on the wooden floor with the authority of someone who tolerated no refusals.
"Come with me," he ordered, bluntly, leaving no room for questions.
His tone admitted no discussion. The last argument with Elizabeth still burned within him, but it was not the time to show it. His strategy was different, more calculated. Scott looked at his mother, who barely dared to look up from the table, pain still present in her eyes. He knew that resisting would only bring more problems. Scott sighed, an almost inaudible sound, and stood up without saying a word.
The door closed behind them with a dry thud that sealed the silence. Outside, a taxi waited with the engine running. Richard got in first, and Scott followed with restrained steps, his small body rigid. As the vehicle started, the silence inside the cabin grew dense, broken only by the muffled roar of the engine and the blurry parade of the streets.
The destination: an exclusive private club. As the taxi left the humble residential area, the ordinary buildings fell behind, replaced by elegant constructions with dark stone facades and sloping roofs, a testament to another social class. Upon arrival, the grand carved wooden doors opened immediately, without need for questions or identification, as if the place recognized its own by instinct.
The club reflected discreet wealth. From the entrance, a stone path led through immaculately manicured gardens, where crystal clear water fountains danced in the landscape. At the back, the main building stood imposing, with thick walls decorated with shields and flags that waved with sober elegance. The tall windows revealed an interior lit with a soft, warm light, while gold chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Impeccably dressed waiters walked the hallways with trays, serving with an almost military discipline, a reflection of the strict order of that world.
Richard stopped at the entrance and, with a confident gesture, extended his hand towards the club.
"Look closely, son. This is the world we belong to," he said with a satisfied smile, not of happiness, but of triumph.
Scott surveyed the place. Sparkling swimming pools where children and adults enjoyed themselves carefree, restaurants with well-laid tables where families conversed calmly and with suppressed laughter, and private lounges where the highest officers discussed topics only they understood. Everything was designed for comfort and power, for those who belonged to that elite.
But he felt no pride. Only emptiness.
Richard led him through the different spaces, stopping at every corner that might impress his son. First, a restaurant with an exquisite aroma of roasted meat and fine spices, where chefs prepared dishes in front of customers with theatrical skill. Then, the recreation area, with billiard and card tables, where high-ranking military shared anecdotes between laughs and drinks, a superficial camaraderie. In each place, Richard spoke with confidence, shaking hands and sharing greetings with a familiarity that made it clear he was part of that elite, a key piece in that machinery.
Finally, they both sat at a secluded table, away from the general bustle. Richard ordered two drinks and leaned back in his seat, studying his son with a more relaxed expression than usual, but calculating, like a strategist.
"I know I behaved very badly yesterday," he said suddenly, with a tone that simulated sincerity, but sounded hollow. His fingers tapped softly on the table with apparent discomfort. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I shouldn't have acted that way."
Scott didn't respond immediately. He watched his father, trying to decipher him. There was something in his voice that didn't quite fit, as if every word had been perfectly rehearsed.
"Don't worry," he murmured at last, a mechanical reply.
Richard took a wad of bills from his pocket and slid it across the table, gently pushing it towards Scott.
"Take it. To distract yourself a bit. Do whatever you want with it."
Scott hesitated; the money, a symbol of what his father valued, was heavy in his hand. He took it without showing any emotion. He quickly put the money away, not because he wanted to use it for his amusement, but because he knew it was needed at home. His mother needed it more than he did.
Richard leaned forward slightly, his expression changing to a darker one, the false cordiality vanishing.
"The divorce is a fact," he let out with a deep sigh, as if it pained him to say it, though his voice lacked genuine sorrow. "It wasn't what I wanted, but your mother has left me no option."
Scott lowered his gaze, the echo of the lie resonating within him.
"I would have liked it to be different," his father continued, letting out a bitter laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "But I don't want this to drive us apart. Regardless of what happens between your mother and me, you are still my son, never forget that."
Scott nodded slightly.
"I know," he replied calmly, his voice barely a whisper.
Richard seemed pleased with that response, a minimal victory. He rose from the table and placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder, a possession more than a gesture of affection.
"Come on. I'll take you back."
The return was silent, the echo of his father's empty, cold words still lingering in the air. When the taxi stopped in front of Elizabeth's house, Richard made no attempt to enter. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing what he was planning. He only took Scott by the arm for an instant, as if ensuring he would see him again, and then released him.
"See you soon," he said with a half-smile.
Scott nodded, saying nothing more. He entered the house without looking back. He didn't need to. He knew his father was no longer there. But something in his gaze, in his attitude, told him that this conversation had only been the beginning.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
Scott was ten years old when his world shattered. His parents' divorce not only broke their home, it left him and his mother abandoned to their fate. His father, Richard, simply walked away without looking back, uncaring of how they would survive. His mother, though strong, struggled day after day to keep what little they had afloat.
From then on, everything began to change.
His grades, once impeccable, plummeted. With each school transfer, in each new attempt by his mother to give him a better opportunity, he felt the weight of sadness dragging him further and further down. Despair enveloped him like a constant shadow, making him feel insignificant. No matter how hard he tried, everything would remain the same.
Until one night, he found her crying.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, her face in her hands, her body trembling with silent sobs. The dim light of the lamp cast shadows on her tired face, highlighting the exhaustion in her eyes. On the table, some open bills seemed to watch her with an invisible weight.
Scott stood motionless for a moment, feeling a knot form in his throat. He had never seen her so fragile, so defeated. At his young age, he thought: perhaps if he were better, she wouldn't have to suffer so much.
He approached cautiously.
"Mom…" he murmured.
She shuddered upon hearing him. She didn't want to lift her head; she didn't want him to see her like this. But Scott wasn't going to step away. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her slender figure. Her skin was cold, her body tense.
"I'm sorry, son…" his mother whispered, her voice broken. "I try to give you my best, I work until exhaustion, I save every penny, but I feel it's not enough."
Her pain pierced him.
"Don't say that, Mom…"
She shook her head and pulled away just enough to look at him. Her eyes, swollen and red, reflected a tiredness that went beyond the physical.
"You have no idea how much I regret… Not having done more, not having fought to keep us together. I failed you when you needed me most…" She covered her face with her hands. "Now I look at you and feel like I haven't given you anything good. Look at you… You're not happy, your grades…" Her voice broke. "I know people whisper, that they think I'm a bad mother because I can't help you with school."
Scott gritted his teeth. Rage and guilt hit him like a wave. He felt a burning in his eyes, a pressure in his chest that barely allowed him to breathe. It was as if his mother was carrying an impossible weight, and he had only been another burden.
"Don't say that! It's not your fault!" His voice trembled. "I… I'm the one who hasn't done enough. I only give you problems, right? I don't help you at all…"
"No, son, that's not it…"
"Yes, it is. I see you, Mom. I see how you work until exhaustion, how you try to make everything alright… And I just disappoint you. I can't handle school, I can't make friends, I just… I just make you look bad."
His mother's eyes filled with new tears.
"No my love, you would never make me look bad. You are the best thing I have… I just want you to be happy, to have something better…"
Scott hugged her tighter, as if with that gesture he could repair every invisible wound.
"I'm going to try harder. I promise."
And in that instant, he knew it. It wasn't just an empty promise. It was a decision. No matter how difficult it was, no matter how many sacrifices he had to make, he was going to become the person his mother needed him to be. He wouldn't make her cry again.
From that night on, everything changed.
Scott devoted himself completely to his studies. Every assignment, exam, and lesson became another step towards his promise. He spent hours in front of books, repeating formulas, memorizing texts, absorbing knowledge with unbreakable determination. Days passed without him realizing it, marked only by the pages he filled with notes and the numbers he solved. His mother looked at him with pride.
The first month, his grades improved slightly.
The second, his teachers began to congratulate him.
By the end of the year, he was the best in his class.
But, although his intelligence shone, loneliness followed him closely.
Every academic achievement was met with applause at school, but the empty seat beside him in the cafeteria reminded him that success did not always bring company. When other children played during recess, he stayed in the library, immersed in his books. The sound of laughter reached him like a distant echo, a reminder that he had exchanged one sadness for another.
The voices of his classmates became an indistinct murmur. Days passed between books and exams, and nights were filled with a silence that no longer weighed so heavily on him. He learned to smile when he should, to pretend that his world was complete, but inside, the absence of company weighed more than any academic burden.
And with time, he stopped waiting for them to do so. Scott had kept his promise.
He had managed to be the best. But, in the process, he had become completely alone.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
Five days before Christmas.
Richard reappeared in Scott's life with an unexpected invitation. He not only summoned him to his enormous house, but also included Elizabeth, his mother. The mansion was a spectacle of luxury and grandeur. A path illuminated with golden lanterns led to the imposing marble entrance, where a butler opened the doors with a bow. Inside, the floors shone like mirrors, the walls were adorned with fine decorations and paintings by famous artists. A soft melody floated in the air, mixing with the aroma of freshly prepared food.
Richard, impeccably dressed, received them with open arms and a smile that seemed more like a calculated pose than a gesture of affection.
"Welcome, son. Here you will have everything you've ever dreamed of. You can study in the best schools, travel the world, and live carefree," he said, guiding him towards a spacious living room with a lit fireplace, the fire crackling with a warmth that was not felt in the general's gaze.
Scott observed the splendor around him with astonishment. A servant approached with a tray of imported sweets. Richard pointed to a luxurious leather armchair for him to sit in.
"This is the place where you belong," Richard whispered with a certainty that bordered on arrogance.
Scott surveyed the enormous living room: golden lights, leather furniture, servants attentive to every movement. For an instant, he imagined what a carefree life would be like, without seeing his mother exhausted every night. But suddenly, he felt an inexplicable coldness in the atmosphere, an oppression that luxury failed to dissipate. Beside him, Elizabeth gripped her purse tightly, as if she wanted to disappear.
"Come live with me," Richard said, forcing a false smile. "Here you will lack nothing. Clothes of the best quality, a room bigger than this living room, trips, cars when you're old enough to drive… Everything you've ever wanted."
Scott lowered his gaze, uncomfortable.
"And Mom?" he asked, feeling a knot in his throat.
Richard sighed theatrically and shrugged, as if the question were a minor inconvenience.
"Son, you can't have it all. Sometimes you have to make difficult decisions. Your mother…" —he cast a fleeting glance at Elizabeth— "knows this is what's best for you. She won't want to stop you."
Scott frowned and looked at his mother, awaiting a reaction. But she just remained silent, her lips pressed together, the decision not to interfere etched on her face.
"If you truly love me, you'll understand that this is the next step," Richard continued, leaning slightly towards him, his voice a persuasive whisper. "You won't want to waste your potential by remaining tied to a mediocre life, will you? This, Scott, is happiness. No worries, no limits, just opportunities and a secured future. What I offer you is a life without deficiencies, without doubts. Isn't that what everyone wants?"
The silence stretched for an instant that seemed eternal, heavy and laden with expectations. Scott felt his mother's gaze on him. There were no pleas in her eyes, only a deep sadness, an acceptance. Richard waited, sure of his victory.
Scott took a deep breath and shook his head.
"No. My home is with my mom. I cannot abandon her," he responded firmly, his voice clear and resonant in the opulent living room.
Richard narrowed his eyes and his false smile slowly faded, revealing the hardness he had hidden all that time.
"You're making a mistake," he said with a cold voice. "Life isn't a fairy tale. Someday you'll realize that love doesn't pay bills or open doors. And when that happens, you'll remember this conversation."
Without another word, he stood up and walked away, as if the conversation had never happened.
Elizabeth exhaled in relief and hugged him tightly, an embrace that was a refuge. They didn't need a mansion or riches. They had each other. And, at the end of the day, that was all that truly mattered.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
That Christmas, although there were no gifts or decorations, mother and son shared a simple dinner. On the small kitchen table, on a somewhat worn but clean tablecloth, rested a plate of baked chicken. Elizabeth had saved what little she could to buy it and cooked it with the utmost care. The warm aroma of garlic and herbs filled the house, mixing with the faint glow of a candle that illuminated their faces.
Scott took a piece of chicken and brought it to his mouth. It was crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and had a taste that made him close his eyes. It wasn't just the food; it was the effort, the love his mother had put into every detail, into every seasoning.
"Thank you for everything, Mom. This is the best I could ask for," he said, his voice trembling, feeling a knot in his throat.
Elizabeth looked at him tenderly and gently stroked his hair.
"I did my best, darling. I wish I could give you more."
Scott shook his head and took his mother's hand in his.
"You already give me everything, Mom. I don't need more. This is perfect."
She smiled, but her eyes welled up. She delicately ran her fingers over her son's cheek and pulled him close, kissing his forehead with warmth.
"Having you here is my greatest happiness," she whispered.
The candle flickered slightly, casting soft shadows on the worn walls of the kitchen. Outside, the cold wind blew fiercely, but inside that small house, the warmth of their love filled every corner. Scott looked at his mother, engraving in his memory her serene expression, the way her hair fell over her face, the sweetness of her voice. He remained silent, letting the warmth of the food and his mother's love envelop him. Never before had he understood so clearly what happiness meant. It wasn't the toys on the shelves or the bright lights of decorated streets. Happiness was being together, sharing a simple meal, knowing that, despite everything, they had each other.
"Mommy..." he whispered with a shy smile. "When I'm older, I want to give you the best Christmas ever. I want to see you surrounded by everything you deserve."
Scott squeezed her hand tightly, as if with that gesture he could promise her that they would always be together, that he would never leave her alone. In his heart, he knew he would keep his promise.
Elizabeth laughed softly, moved.
"All I want, son, is to see you happy. That's more than enough for me."
That night, without luxuries or riches, was the happiest of his life. Because in their small kitchen, illuminated by a candle, the love they shared shone brighter than any star in the sky.