A Daughter's Love

Chapter Eighteen.

Caleb.

The pain was beyond anything I had yet to suffer. It stung my lungs like the burn of a hot iron against bare flesh, it sent needles of agony throughout my limbs like the cuts of blades, constantly dragging across my skin, biting deeper, slitting the muscle and tearing at the tissue. It was that very pain that kept me paralyzed, unable to move for fear of the constant aching that it would cause. It left me furious, always annoyed and suffering as a pirate, a hardworking man trapped in his own body like a lion chained inside a cage. Much like the lion, I wanted to run free, to roam the fields of the afterlife, to touch Evangeline as I wished to, to feel her chilling skin, her soft hair running through my fingertips as her tongue battled with mine, destined to loose. I spent my days in bed, laying with only the cavern ceiling to entertain my thoughts though Evangeline would often read to me, bathe me, feed me, sing to me and play the piano Pandora had moved into our room. Every night, she would lay beside me, play with my hand and fingers, caress my face despite me not being able to turn my head or touch her like she wanted me to. I often dreamt of a time long before that when I had yet to meet Mary, before Captain Solstice had even set sail for Martin’s Port. I could see my mother’s face as though she was sat right beside me, doe eyes softened at the sight of her only child. Her brown hair, strands as straight as arrows that dangled down her back in a thick braid with a few sections freely framing her face. She was the first picture of what I imagined my wife to be, someone just as beautiful, just as enchanting and fearless. On that particular night, I lay in bed beside Evangeline, fast asleep with my arms limply dangling at my sides. My eyes twitched behind closed lids as I dreamt of a young woman that ventured down the streets of Martin’s Port. She was abandoned after birth on the steps of the Leyland manor where the Campbell family bloodline had resided for decades and was taken in as a servant, raised by the help to be the perfect pawn for the family’s only son, Vincent Campbell. Her younger years were filled with his torment, his hands roaming her body every chance he had, his kisses, forced upon her lips like the venomous bite of a snake. Even years later she would still remember his taste, his scent and words telling her that she was his and only his and in a sense, she was. He was the only boy she had ever known, the only boy she saw around the manor, the only male who would touch her, tell her such sweet things only to poison them with the whiplash of his tongue. Her heart wasn’t given an opportunity to love anyone else by the time she grew of age and had her virtue stolen by the young Campbell heir. It was his persistence, his constant agonizing and reminders that she belonged to him and only him that drove her to escape the manor and seek refuge somewhere else in the Port. She met with the owner of the local brothel late one night at a pub where she had seduced a few men into buying her dinner and she told the young woman that if she ever fancied a job in seduction that she could stop by the brothel of the towns people did not have decent work for her. That’s how Aislin’s life as a w***e began. Her name meaning vision or dream and given to her by the very person who had taken so much from her. She was the only harlot to ever wear white in the streets of Martin’s Port, the colour of purity never once failing to make her appear almost virgin to the eyes of on looking men and it was there, in those very streets that she caught the eye of a newlywed Vincent Campbell. I had been told the story of my father countless times before as a young boy however she never told me his name and never spoke of his nobility. To me he could’ve been the fishermen on the docks or the butcher down the street that I passed everyday on my way to the bakery but never once did I suspect the brutal and tyrannous heir to the Campbell name to be my father.

Aislin made her way down the street, dressed in a flowy, white gown that made her tan flesh stand out against its pale hue. Her hair was free of its usual braid, dancing out behind her like a veil of cocoa strands, a few shades lighter than her darker, brown eyes. A basket hung from her forearm as her feet, clad only in leather sandals accumulated dirt from the pathways of the market place that had yet to be paved in cobblestone. She bent across one of the fruit stands, reaching for one of the bright red apples that she twisted in her grasp while tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. The sight of her there caught the attention of Vincent who exited his carriage, accompanied by his guards who were decorated in armour of silver and gold. He paused on the steps, eyes scanning her figure, the familiarity of her hips, the shape of her lightly parted lips taunted him, teased him. The image of her fragile hand tucking her hair back was like a painted portrait of a fairy queen, long eyelashes batting as she examined the ripened fruit “My lord?” the local blacksmith questioned as he approached the carriage, wiping his dirtied and scarred hands on a piece of brown cloth as he did so. The nobleman hardly averted his gaze as he hummed in question to whomever it was speaking to him “Your customized horseshoes have been prepared for transport” he informed the young lord who looked to be lost in his own thoughts. Vincent tore his gaze away from the woman to swiftly glance in the smith’s direction before he returned his eyes to her alluring figure “R-Right” the guards stood perfectly poised but fully aware of what had captured the attention of their ruler to such an extent but the smith didn’t and proceeded to search for the target of Vincent’s infatuation “Ah, the virtuous w***e, I heard she’s the most sought after in all of Martin’s Port. A must for the lords who pass through here-.” his words captured Vincent’s attention, drawing his eyes onto the man wearing leather boots and gloves along with an apron to help shield his body from the harshness of the heat he so often worked with “I hear they pay well, though she only accepts their coin after they have been thoroughly pleased and willingly offer it to her” the people always seemed to speak highly of Aislin, always placing her above the other harlots as though she was their queen, the most perfect, seemingly untainted fruit among them and the men picked her to indulge in. Her reputation was clean and unsullied despite her obvious occupation. She truly was a marvel even to those men who had yet to lay their eyes upon her gorgeous face or form “Lord Hathaway was said to have an entire tub filled for her with golden coins to bathe in and bathe she did, my lord” the smith told, a sly grin spreading across his lips as he watched the woman, place a copper coin into the palm of the man behind the various fruits, taking the apple in hand and biting down onto it. The succulent juice trickled down her chin and to her neck where it taunted Vincent “She is just a w***e and nothing more” the nobleman announced, forcing his attention away from Aislin long enough to descend the carriage steps and head inside the armoury where crates filled with hay stood open and waiting for him to inspect the contents “Surely she is just a simple w***e compared to your beautiful wife, but to the rest of us commoners she is as close to heaven as we may possibly get” the smith insisted. Lady Cilla Hayhurst was said to be one of the most captivating noblewomen in all of England. Her family estate, located in London was said to have been big enough to fit a small army. Her wealth was part of what led to her marriage to Vincent but it was her influence among the English Court that made her particularly valuable to the Campbell family. Her dirty blond tresses showcased her nobility almost like woven gold while a mole at the corner of her upper lip made her appear all the more alluring, desirable. She was stunning in the sense that jewels and expensive gowns clad her form but her beauty was nothing compared to that of Aislin who was naturally breath taking. Vincent knew this which was why his eyes continued to wonder to the doors of the armoury, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman dressed in white when she passed by “The shoes have each been engraved with your initials as requested. I trust that they are to your liking?” the smith said, changing the topic and not allowing for Vincent to say the words he had thought ‘She is heaven, my heaven’. The nobleman cleared his throat and ran a gloved hand across one of the horseshoes that had V. Campbell roughly engraved into it then nodded his head in satisfaction, motioning to his guards “Load the crates” he ordered then reached for a pouch that hung from his belt to toss it in the direction of the smith with a rattle. The smith thanked his lord but Vincent hastily fled the armoury, heading for the carriage door that was held open for him, though they remained open when he came to a sudden halt in the streets, eyes locking onto the woman who had escaped him, a piece of property that no longer belonged to him and every move she made was as though she was deliberately mocking him. Each breath she took was like a slap in the face since she had yet to ask him permission to do so. A thought crossed Vincent’s mind as he stood there, a thought that made his body tremble with jealousy. Many noblemen had travelled from far and wide to attend the grand wedding ceremony and celebrations that his parents had thrown for him and his wife, Cilla. His hand balled into fists at the thought of just how many of those wealthy men had managed to bed Aislin while he was stuck inside his manor, told to bed his new wife despite only being able to see the orphaned servants face every time he did so “My lord?” the guard at the carriage door questioned just as Aislin turned away from the stand of beaded jewellery to continue on her way, becoming starkly frozen at the sight of the man whom she knew better than anyone else. The woman was overcome by a mixture of fear and enchantment as she stared at his form, dressed in the finest black silks, hands gloved with ebony satin, rings of all different types of metal standing out against the dark background. His onyx hair was neatly combed back and his face clean shaven. He was still young, a man of only twenty-five whereas she had just turned twenty. Did she go to him? Throw herself into his arms or did she turn and run? Her basket cluttered to the dirt road below, spilling fruits and vegetables in every direction before she turned and began running in the direction of the brothel. Vincent moved to follow her but stopped himself, unsure of how he could possibly explain the situation to his wife if he was to follow Aislin. Instead, he watched her go, her body bouncing along with her hair as she disappeared into the crowd of people. It was only after she was out of sight that he dared enter the carriage and allowed his men to return him to the Leyland manor where Cilla eagerly awaited his arrival. Her arms felt foreign to him, her embrace cold compared to Aislin’s, her touch nothing like her comforting, reassuring contact that he so craved. It was the w***e’s face that he saw whenever he would look at the noblewoman, it was her voice he would hear calling to him in his sleep, her body haunting his dreams, making them shift from chilling nightmares into blissful fractions of heaven. Heaven. That was the single word he would use for her, the only word that seemed to explain what Aislin was to him.

Aislin.

The mirror showcased the image of a timeless beauty, a brunette with equally as brown eyes, free of dark circles or wrinkles as she applied the crushed raspberry blend to her lips, staining them a slightly darker shade of crimson. Her body was clad in a lacy red nightgown that had been cut short, the thin straps dangling from her shoulders as the sheer material left nothing to the imagination. She had her hair messily pinned up with pearl and gold hairpins that had been gifts from her many customers. There was a knock on the bedroom door that drew my eyes upward and away from the mirror’s reflection. A woman leaned against the doorway, her corset tight enough to have caused her large breasts to start pooling out of its restricted material. She nodded her head in the direction of the stairs “Ye’ve got a customer” she informed me then turned to leave, her heels thudding against the wooden flooring. I cleared my throat, gazing down at myself to make sure that I looked presentable before I stood and turned to face the door, my wrists and neck dangling with jewellery while crimson heels clad my feet, making me appear taller. I could hear the agonizingly slow approach of expensive shoes and spared a glance in the direction of the bed which was a large, circular feather mattress covered in scarlet silk sheets with an unopened bottle of wine perched beside it on a silver tray “No one may know of my presence here” a familiar voice instructed, coins rattling as they were passed from one hand to another. A woman giggled and sighed, pleased before she spoke the name that sent chills down my spine “Of course, lord Vincent” was it him? The Vincent Campbell whom I had ran into at the market place earlier that week? I dreaded the thought but my body grew hot with anticipation as the man came to a stop in the doorway of my room. He glanced back at the retreating girl then locked gazes with me in the doorway. Instinctively, I took a step back, feeling powerless in his presence. Usually, I was the one in charge, the one who played the cards and conquered the men but in that moment I felt as though I was a dear trapped within the range of a hunter’s bow, unable to run or hide without being shot down “Aislin” he greeted, his voice low and dangerous. I began to slowly back away when he stepped deeper into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him to ensure that we wouldn’t be disturbed but more importantly it was to scare me, to get the message across that there was nowhere for me to run. He slipped the key into the pocket of his coat that he shrugged off and tossed aside, onto the back of a sofa then began to undo his tie, abandoning it to the flooring below. My back collided with the far wall and I swallowed hard, knowing that I was trapped, that I was the prey and he the carnivore, ready to devour me “Vince” I got out when he came to a stop directly in front of me, the top button of his black shirt undone. My knees pressed tightly against each other, fearful of what he might do but they began to tremble when he reached out a gloved hand to tenderly caress the flesh of my thigh, creeping slowly upward while his free hand forcefully gripped my chin “You’re trembling” he stated, blazing golden eyes searching mine. My hands clawed at the wall as my eyes frantically searched for a way out, the frame of the painting behind me, digging into the centre of my back “You thought you could escape me but no matter how far you run or how many men you bed, your body and soul will still belong to me” I could feel his warm breath fanning my face as he leaned in closer, eyes gazing down at my parted lips that shook with the anticipation of tasting his though I was too afraid to initiate anything when my mind kept yelling at me to run, to get away “You are mine-.” he snarled, tightening his hold on my chin and forcing my head back into the painting of wild roses. I gritted my teeth “And only mine” the frightened little girl inside of me wanted to nod her head, wanted to say that yes, yes she was his but the woman I had become refused to speak those very words. They were humiliating and degrading “Look at you-.” he added, head bent to glance down at what I was wearing, at the thin, lacy fabric that was so sheer and frail. Vincent was the first man who had ever seen me so exposed before yet it still felt as though he was seeing me naked for the first time, my eyes avoiding his for fear of seeing disapproval in their depths “You might as well be naked” that hand, that gloved left hand that bore his wedding ring slowly began to creep upward on the inner parts of my thigh, teasingly gliding across the flesh until his index finger grazed a part of me. I gasped, my breath shaky as I attempted to shake my head in protest. The hand gripping my chin slid down to my throat where it began constricting, holding me captive as his fingers continued to explore my lower regions. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the thoughts of Vincent away but even then, even in the darkness behind my closed lids, he was all I could see “Look at me” he ordered, his voice husked as if just touching me was enough for him to lose all self-control. I threw my head back, savouring the feel of his gloved fingers, the texture rough and foreign against that sensitive part of me. When I didn’t do as he said, his hand stopped and the cloud that fogged my mind dissipated to my utter disappointment. My eyes shot open, gazing at him with furrowed brows as if to ask ‘Why did you stop?’ my silent question was quickly answered when he began moving his hand again as a result of my compliance. I moaned low, feeling him inside of me and fell forward, shaking hands gripping at the fabric of his tailored shirt. He breathed a laugh into my ear and allowed his hand to release my neck, snaking upward to undo my hair, causing the strands to fall down my shoulders and back “I always loved it when you wore your hair down” he informed me, forcing his fingers deeper into me. I gasped, eyes growing wide to his utter amusement and before I could stop him from doing so, he removed his hand, leaving me longing and desperate. He moved away from me, using his teeth to remove his gloves, tossing them aside along with his ring, piercing eyes looking up at me, collapsed against the wall “Your gown-.” he began, motioning to the red material “Remove it” the order registered almost immediately in the back of my mind and my body began to move on its own accord, tugging the article of clothing over my head and tossing it aside. Vincent studied my figure, eyes slowly moving from my face to my chest, stomach, hips and legs only to come to rest on my eyes “Like heaven” he uttered lowly, most likely hoping that I hadn’t heard. His hand worked to remove the broche of the Campbell family crest that hung over his breast and placed it on the tray beside the bed before he stripped his shirt from his body and discarded his shoes. His belt came next followed by the buttons of his trousers and a long, dragged out zip that reached my ears. My heart was racing, pounding at the thought of him having me, the burning sensation in my cheeks as intense as the dampness between my legs. There was something so violating in knowing that he would have me yet something so perfect and complete as if we were the last pieces to an eternal puzzle that was about to come together “Come here” he demanded as he slumped down onto the edge of the bed. I hesitated but did as he asked, stepping out of my heels to make my way across the room to where he sat waiting impatiently. The moment I stood before him, he reached out to grip my breast, squeezing it roughly enough to cause a cry to escape my lips, a mixture of pleasure and agony. His thumb flicked across my n****e and his eyes hardened “How many?” he asked me, a question I dreaded but knew he would ask eventually. The day he had taken my virtue replayed itself in my mind’s eye. It was a beautiful, cloudless day and I was bent over the dining hall table, polishing the surface when I saw his reflection in it. I didn’t have time to turn around before he pinned me to the table and began to lift my skirt up. He kept saying how long he had waited, how desperately he wanted me, how hungry I always made him. At first he only touched me as he had done so many times before then he thrusted himself into me, blood trickling down my thighs. I cried and protested until the pained whimpers turned into moans of ecstasy. He was my first and though his means were brutal and forced, they became something I looked forward to, something I dreamt about at night until I awoke panting, sweat trickling down my brow, my core aching with a need, a need for the Campbell heir “Twelve” I replied, my eyes drifting up to lock with his. Vince looked angry, jealous and hurt all at once as he breathed in deep and let go of my breast, his fingertips trailing their way down my stomach, to my hip “But I can’t remember their faces” I quickly defended, fearful that he might get up and leave, that his touch may leave me alone in that hallow brothel which echoed with the forced moans of desperate women. He looked at me as if to ask what I meant “Because all I see when I’m with them, is you” there was a part of me, a sick part of me that had fallen in love with Vincent Campbell despite his cruelty, despite him holding me captive and though it was hard for me to admit, it was true. He reached for me, pulling me onto his lap and gripping at my hair, gazing up at me like I was the only woman he could see, like his wife didn’t exist and I wasn’t just a w***e but a queen “I wish you were born noble-.” he admitted, never before having spoken those words. I was aware that just as he had been my first, I had been his. He had never touched a girl before he’d touched me, had never kissed lips other than mine when we were younger. That bond, that love could never be broken “Perhaps then I could have you completely” I knew what he spoke of. He wished that I was born a noblewoman so that he could wed me but instead I was just a simple commoner, a woman so far beneath him that I could barely see his face despite being so close to him there in that brothel. My hands moved to caress the sides of his face, his saddened gaze giving me newfound courage when I leaned in to kiss him. It was a kiss that turned into much more than just that, it turned into a night of passion, into an image of two lovers, dancing among crimson sheets. It was euphoria and when I fell asleep, I dreamt of him, of his golden eyes so alluring and rare that they made you look twice. I dreamt of his brutality, his stinging hand across my cheek, his teeth biting down on my bottom lip until it bled, his voice yelling with the fury of the gods but I also dreamt of his warm smile, his gentle whispers and loving embrace. It was a nightmare that turned into a pleasant dream and eventually gave way to a lonely morning when I awoke to find that I was alone in that large bed with a pouch of golden coins lying beside me where his body should’ve been. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I stared at them, wanting nothing more than to throw them from the brothel window onto the streets below where the poor and the homeless would pick them off like feral beasts but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. Instead, I rose from the bed and began to draw myself a bath, wrapped in the scarlet sheets when the light of day crept into the room and bounced off an object on the silver tray. My eyes instantly went to it, the Campbell family crest, the roaring lion. So it hadn’t been just a dream, it was real and the broch was proof of that along with my own memories, but perhaps the most convincing truth was the blessing that came from that night. Our son Caleb was born in the attic of the brothel, brought into the world by the hands of the owner of the establishment who had helped me through the difficult pregnancy. His cry echoed throughout the room, almost a full day after I had first gone into labour and I remembered reaching for him and taking him in my arms with the remaining strength that I had left. I named him Caleb which meant faithful because that is what I wanted him to be not only to me as his mother but to the people closest to him. At first his eyes were dark brown or even black from his time spent in the womb without any source of light but over time they began to appear more and more like his father’s, the brilliant gold of the Campbell bloodline. Vincent knew about his son and cared for the boy only because I was his mother but he stayed away, refusing to acknowledge that we existed even when I begged him to accept Caleb as his son. Perhaps it was to protect us for fear of what Cilla would do if she was to discover his infidelity? She was a fierce woman, one who frequently sat among men at the royal Court and could voice her own opinion without fear of their reaction or gender so having Caleb killed for her husband’s actions seemed like child’s play. Whatever the reason may have been, I never saw Vincent again after that night, only wrote to him in secret and got very vague replies that spoke of how it was a mistake and that Cilla was expecting ‘I have a family and it does not include a w***e’ were his exact words scribbled down in black ink. My heart never dared to love a man like that again though when Caleb was born, he became the love I treasured most, the love I so depended on. A mother’s love is enough to end wars and destroy entire kingdoms. As he grew, I began to see so much of his father in him, in the way he spoke, the way he did things with force rather than using his words. He was just as handsome and reminded me more of Vincent as the years went on. When Caleb was just a small boy, I took him to the market place where he helped me pick out some meat and vegetables when we passed by a toy-maker’s stall “Mama, look! It’s a boat” he exclaimed in awe, big eyes staring up at the ship carved from wood. It was a simple little thing with black fabric for sails but it fascinated and amazed him so. His hand tightened in mine as he gazed upon it, overcome by wonder. I wished I could’ve bought it for him but since his birth, customers of nobility rarely visited the brothel anymore, my time as the virtuous w***e had come to an end and the money wasn’t what it used to be. I knelt beside him and ran my thumb across the back of his hand “One day I’ll buy you a real ship, big enough to sail the seven seas on-.” I promised, drawing his eyes away from the toy ship that he’d mistaken for a boat being as small and naïve as he was. His head turned to look at me with excitement in his eyes, mind swirling with adventures out on the open waters “Really, mama?” he asked as if to make sure that I wasn’t just playing a trick on him. People passed by us, sparing glances at the aging mother and her little boy but none of them ever stopped or addressed us. They all knew what I was and they pitied Caleb for it “Really and I’ll go with you on all sorts of adventures to mysterious islands” a smile so wide that it stretched from ear to ear lit up his rounded face and my heart ached with a love so great it would make the heavens jealous. Caleb threw his small arms around my neck and hugged me tight “I can’t wait!” he exclaimed as I laughed and scooped him up, carrying him along with my basket back in the direction of the brothel. By the time we reached our destination, he had fallen fast asleep and had his head on my shoulder when I stepped into the kitchen to set the groceries we shared on the table “Caleb, it’s time to wake up now” I urged him, placing him in one of the chairs by the table. It was then that I felt his arms and face and started to panic. He was heating up, his skin boiling hot against my palm “Caleb?” I asked again, hoping to get some form of a response from him. He groaned and slumped his shoulders, eyes hazy as they looked at me. My hand caressed the side of his face, inspecting those eyes to see whether his pupils were dilated or not “I don’t feel good” he whined, eyes drifting shut. I quickly scooped him back into my arms and hurried up the stairs to our room in the attic, flagging Charlotte on the way there as we passed by rooms of moaning women and grunting men “He has a fever-.” I explained to her and she went to get me some cold water and a cloth along with some herbal medicine. I stripped Caleb down and laid him in our bed then began to dampen his body with the cool water once Charlotte had returned “That came round quick. The boy was fine just this mornin” she was saying, stood in a corset and underskirts like she had been the night she announced that Vincent was there to bed me. I sat on the edge of the bed, wringing out the cloth to start dabbing his body all over again “I hope it ain’t the flu, people say it can get worse” she thought out loud to my utter dismay. The last thing I needed was to worry about Caleb surviving at a time that was as frightening as it was with the Plague having just passed a few years prior. I shot her a look “Caleb is strong, he’ll be fine. I know he will” I said, mainly to reassure myself more than her. He was breathing heavily and looked to be dehydrating so I left to fetch him some water that I mixed with his medicine and gave to him in small, even sips. I refused to see any men that night and stayed by Caleb’s side while he slept, fearful of the fever that didn’t seem to want to break. I held his hand and fell asleep in my chair only to awake to his flesh feeling colder than it previously had. I stirred and blinked, gazing at the soundly sleeping boy who no longer had sweat dripping down his forehead. I reached for him, my palm touching his face his arm, his neck but he no longer had a fever. I breathed a sigh of relief, eyes filling with unshed tears, stemmed from gratitude to whoever deity had helped heal my son who had Campbell blood running through his veins “You awake?” Charlotte questioned as she creaked the door open and peaked inside. There she found me, gazing lovingly at my only child, relief and hope flickering in my glazed over eyes as the morning light shone in through the window behind us. Charlotte swung the door open and placed a hand on her hip “Well would you look at that. The boy really is as strong as you say” she muttered when she noticed that the colour had returned to his small features. I breathed a shaky breath and turned to address the woman with my hand still locked in his. She wore her usual attire but her hair was still damp from having bathed after a long night of entertaining various men for their hard earned coin “Can you watch him for me?” I asked to which she furrowed up her brows and gave a worried scowl. I hadn’t wanted to leave his side throughout the night, not even to rest or eat myself yet there I was, asking her to watch him while I ran off “Please, I’ll be back soon” Charlotte sighed then nodded, assuming that if I was willing to leave Caleb even just for the briefest of moments that it had to be due to something very important. She waved her hand as if to dismiss me then took a seat on the edge of the bed beside the boy’s form “Right, right. Get goin’ then” I quickly moved around the side of the bed, pulling my coat closer to my body and leaned down to place a thankful kiss to her cheek. She hurriedly shoved me away from her and went on about how weird and unpredictable my traditions were as I searched the drawers of my dresser to find a pouch of coins that I carried with me out the door and into the streets, heading in the direction of the marketplace.

Caleb was seated upright in bed when I returned, his eyes still droopy and his shoulders sagging as he stared into his bowl of soup that Charlotte had prepared for him. He looked defeated and frail, only ever glancing in the direction of the door when I opened it with a brown bag in hand “Mama?” he asked, his eyes instantly filling with tears. I rushed to his side and wrapped my arms around him, the bag placed on the foot of the bed as I comforted him. I hated myself for having left, for not being there when he woke up but I had to go back, I had to “I’m here, baby” I whispered, stroking back his hair as I felt him crying into me. As his mother, there was no amount of pain that I wouldn’t suffer for him, just so that he wouldn’t have to but some tears you just couldn’t take away. After he managed to calm down, I reached for his half empty bowl of soup and set it aside, replacing it with the bag. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at it like it was something he’d never seen before “What’s this?” he questioned, reaching for the crinkled paper only to peal it back and peak inside. A small smile touched my lips when he gasped and pulled the wooden ship with black sails out of its depths. The bag was instantly discarded but the ship he held in his hands as if he was afraid it would break. His big, wide eyes filled with amazement and excitement roamed over the toy then found me “But I thought I couldn’t have it?” I reached for his face, palm caressing his cheek as my thumb ran back and forth across his cheekbone. I had spent the last of our money on the toy and would have to work much harder if we were going to make enough money to survive but it was worth it. The way his face lit up, his eyes swirled with adventure was all I needed to know that I had made the right choice. There wasn’t anything in the world that I cared more about than my son, nothing I wouldn’t give or sacrifice if it ever came down to it and deep down, Caleb knew this, he always knew it “You were so strong and brave-.” I said, referring to how he had overcome his fever and managed to get better despite still not being completely healthy yet. He’d conquered the worst “I think you deserved it” he abandoned his ship and wrapped me in a tight hug, a hug so tight that I had to fight for breath. I felt his racing heartbeat against my chest and his trembling arms as he held me close to his small frame “Thank you, mama” he said and those words, those simple three words made me forget just what it was the future held. They made me live in the moment, laughing with my son as he ate his soup and told me of what the fisherman had learned him by the docks. He explained to me where the helm was on the toy and how the sails were supposed to work and I listened intently, amazed at how smart he was even at the age of eight years old. He knew of the stars and how to use them to navigate, of the various constellations and their meanings or stories. He told them to me late into the day until he finally fell asleep and I went back to work, leaving him to the care of whichever woman was off that night. Everyone at the brothel cared about Caleb, making sure that he was alright, even if it was just taking time out of their schedule to glimpse into the attic and see if he was alright. Some even helped bathe him and prepared him his supper. They were his family. They were my family but none of them could ever compare to the family that I found in my son.