He loved her. She was his mother. She may not have been there for him. She may not have been a part of his childhood or young adulthood – he still loved her. He had watched her play with his little brother and sister. He had watched them sharing laughs and phrases that seemed to be a secret kept from him. At least he had been sent to live with a relative so he didn’t have to see or hear too much. When she died, his brother didn’t shed a tear. He promptly focused on her will. The man who had lost the mother he had never had, bawled like a baby.