But why did my mother faint?

Mangoes, golden and full, their scent~ a whispered promise of mischief. My fingers sticky, my heart pounding. My mother’s eyes—wide, unblinking. “Where did you get these?” Her voice, a blade slicing the air. A hush fell around us, the mangoes cradled in guilt. “Mum, I plucked them from a mango tree.” Silence—a breath held underwater. Five minutes, five hours, eternity suspended on her brows. “Were you alone?” The question, a thread pulled loose, unravelling the fabric of innocence. “No, Mum.” The words, a hesitant confession. My classmates, a chorus of laughter. The sky, a vast, yawning expanse. “And the boys?” Her voice—a fire slow to kindle. “Laughing, Mum.” The sound, now a distant echo, a memory already fading. “Do you know why they laughed?” The question, a stone cast into still water, rippling the surface of understanding. Underpants. The word, a whispered secret, a shame that clings like a shadow— its cord uncut. Two weeks later— more mangoes, more sweetness, cupped in my hands. My mother’s stare— a mixture of expectation and dread. “Who climbed this time?” The question, a challenge, a test of courage. “I did.” The words, a bold declaration full of thorns. Her fury, a gathering storm. “But I was smarter this time,” I said. The words, a hesitant boast. “I took off my underpants before climbing.” The silence that ensued— longer than a winter night at the South Pole. And then,       my mother fainted.