Her display of kindness left Jack feeling exasperated—to be honest, he tried to feel that way.
But somewhere, some deep part of his heart beat faintly with the desire to believe that she was telling the truth. Jack despised the baseless optimism that even now reached out to that vague hope.
“The miscarriage was a lie. I had a healthy baby boy.”
Rose lifted her hand from his shoulder, returned to the folding chair, and sat down. What her fingertips had felt might have only been a reproduction of human warmth, but Rose felt happy regardless to have touched Jack’s body again. She didn’t care if the flesh was only a replica as long as its heat came from the man she loved.
“Mr. Campbell pretended to be my husband to protect me—and our son—until you’d completed your mission … to shield us from Patriot eyes.”
“What?”
Jack turned to look at her. Maybe her hope—please believe me—was starting to get through. He still wasn’t ready to accept the sudden revelation as the truth, but at least he had stopped being so intent on rejecting her.
“He didn’t even tell Meryl. He sacrificed everything—even his family—to protect us. I’m sorry, Jack. I wanted to tell you.”
Jack sat up. The bedsheets slipped down and left his chest bare. A faint groove along his shoulder indicated the edge between body and artificial limb. The boy ducked back behind Rose at the sight of him, but the child’s eyes held on him, transfixed with curiosity.
“John … aren’t you going to say hello to your father?”
Rose motioned the child forward. When John didn’t make an attempt to move, Jack tentatively extended his arm out to the child.
“My son … little John.”
With artificial fingers, he reached out toward the boy’s face. His new limbs had been made to be as realistic as possible, but the minute differences couldn’t be ignored. He was real life’s version of the uncanny valley. Something was off about the texture of Jack’s skin; a hint of ceramics, the sense of rubber. Almost human, but falling just short and thus inspiring revulsion.
John backed away from Jack’s approaching hand.
“Scared of me, huh?” Jack said.
For a while, Jack hadn’t been human. To protect Snake; to die for Snake—with that drive all he had left to cling to, the beast known as Raiden was born.
He didn’t yet know if he could go back to being human again. And as long as he still remained in the realm of the beast, of course a child would be frightened.
Raiden studied his artificial body and said, “I don’t blame you. It’s okay.”
“Nuh-uh,” John said, the abrupt change of heart startling Rose and Jack. “I’m not scared.”
The boy approached the bed, reached his hand behind his back, and pulled out a toy sword. He pressed a switch on the hilt, and the toy produced the familiar hum of a sci-fi laser sword.
John spread his stance, struck a heroic pose, and said, “I think you’re cool—kinda like a comic book superhero.”
Jack laughed. How long had it been since he had laughed like that, heartily, and without a hint of sarcasm? For a time, he had forgotten how good it felt to laugh.
To forget was to become the beast.
John was grinning back at him.
Jack looked at the boy longingly. Would he accept a hug?
The question wasn’t one for the child—whether Jack could put his arms around his son rested entirely upon himself. Could he be a father? Could he take the boy into his life? Jack asked himself if he was up to the task.
Then Jack pulled his son in close, resting the child’s head against his chest. This was his new life; one with responsibility, and with hope. In his arms he held his future, and he was ready for it, body and soul.
Suddenly, John began to cry—not afraid, but recognizing as much as a child could Jack’s internal conflict, and his decision. He understood completely that this man was now his father and had chosen to take on a father’s responsibility.
“Rose,” Jack said. “I’m done running.”
Jack became overwhelmed by how precious the child in his arms was to him. Emotions long suppressed now came to the surface. A tear ran down his cheek and landed on John’s crew-cut silver hair. Seeing Jack crying, Rose too was brought to tears.
Rose leaned over their child to hug Jack and said, “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
For John, this was the moment he finally found the father he’d been waiting for. Not every man could become a father. A man didn’t become a father when the woman he loved began to carry his child inside her. Nor did a man become a father when the child was born. That moment only came when he accepted his child and decided, unconditionally, that they would share their lives together.
In a mirror in the corner of the room, Jack caught the reflection of their embrace. He chuckled and said, “We’re like Beauty and the Beast.”
Rose lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
“No,” she said. “You’re no beast. You’re my husband … and his father.”
Part of me thinks that in this moment, Rose truly became John’s mother. She stopped fearing this man, the father of her child. She accepted him the way he was. As Jack began to acknowledge his role in their family, she too started down a new path.
How many detours had she taken before reaching this point? Much she had given up, and much she had lost.
Jack had come dangerously close to stripping all meaning from her sacrifices. He had selfishly rejected life and basked in the comfort of nihilism and despair.
“I won’t lose my way again. I don’t have time to waste in searching for myself.
“I have too much to do now, as a father.
“And only by remaining true to my family can I repay the freedom Emma and Naomi gave me.”