Sacrifice.
He was lying in the garden, his eyes reflecting a flash of happiness and pride, as he drifted into a flashback of memories. He felt himself walk through the yellow brick road that led to his old house in the village. As he walked through, towards the house, he soaked into his being, the dahlias blooming around the pathway, the smell of jasmine, and as he neared the house, the sound and smell of spices simmering in hot oil was prominent. He began to walk faster. He entered the house and made his way towards the kitchen, where his lovely wife was busily working to make the best meal he had ever had. He did not disturb her and watched from the distance, smiling. He tore himself away and walked to his room, reminiscent of the memories of all the mischief planned and executed from there, sitting on the bed, letting it all in for a few moments. Getting up, he made his way to the terrace where his old mother was knitting something, glancing over at the road, as if she was expecting someone,...