Hi! I am starting this blog to post my Sims4 Legacy stories! From occults, to criminal organizations, from steamy love stories to alien abduction drama.
I’ve been playing TS4 since it released, and that being said, I have plenty of stories to tell and screenshots to share. I have tried to divide them up into several series below. Each title links to that series, and I will do my best to keep this updated and organized.
Enjoy!
Bloodlines Series
My main and most recent stories start in my 10th generation of Sims with Michael and Jade, and extending to other families like the Goths, the Phans, and the Banes. As the stories intersect, I will create categories under their post for different storylines.
Enjoy mafia romance, political intrigue, family moments, and many twists and turns in this multifaceted series that spans worlds, generations, and families. This series contains mature content, violence, and sexual themes, and on page sex. TW will be marked in Orange at the top of the chapter.
🕰️ Throw Back Thursdays
I also plan to do some Throw Back Thursdays for “ancestor Sim” stories. These will be the stories of Sims since past who are part of the family tree, but were played years ago. Some have screenshots, some don’t, but they all helped create the family I have today and helped me become the Simmer I am today.
📚 Side Story Saturdays
I will also include my “Side Story Saturdays” here for sims who are not a part of the of my “main story”, but still have unique and exciting tales to tell. These stories may contain mature content, violence, and sexual themes, and on page sex. TW will be marked in Orange at the top of the chapter.
He sat at his desk in his private office, just off the stairwell on the second floor. The room was bathed in warm dark woods and gold carpet. His dual screen computer sat on his desk, a heavy executive style thing passed down through generations. He had renovated this room after his father’s passing, from a seldom used “museum” of family relics to a private office he had used during his time as president. The amount of times he had held meeting here between dignitaries and some high powered “businessmen” like Michael Feng and Nikolàs Stathoulis were countless. Now, he sat here working on coding for a new app.
Charlotte knocked on the door, less a request for permission to enter, more of an announcement of her presence. Her face held a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Hello, darling. What’re you up to today?” He asked gently, not wanting to press too much. In the months since their loss, Charlotte’s temperament had been like a rabbit; timid, skittish, and prone to cause her to flee at the slightest provocation.
“Not much. I just finished helping your mother bring in eggs from the coops.”
Yui, always the animal lover, had insisted they maintain their chicken coop in the side yard, even after the garden renovation. Even in her old age, she made sure to care for the last few chickens daily, often with help from Charlotte or the girls, Victoria and Elizabeth, when they weren’t in school.
“I take it we’ll have another frittata tomorrow for breakfast.”
Charlotte gave a small chuckle. She had perfected her technique over the years as a way to use up the copious amounts of eggs.
“Probably. The egg basket is full again.”
They sat in silence for a beat, Henry at his desk and Charlotte on the couch in front of him.
”Did you come here to tell me about the eggs?”
Charlotte sighed and looked up at him, tears in her eyes, but resolve written on her face.
“I want to try again…” She admitted.
The words tilted Henry’s world.
“Charlotte, you don’t have to. We have our girls.”
”I know, Henry. But I want to try, at least. And I really don’t want the gap between our children to be too long. The girls are already children.”
Henry sat back in his seat and looked at the ultrasound picture taped to his monitor. Their son, who was now interred in the family mausoleum with the many Henrys before him.
Tears stung his eyes and his throat felt raw.
“We can try.”
They returned to the clinic as they had three times before, and went through the process again. They waited for weeks to see if they had a viable embryo, then returned again for implantation. They took time together at home, dinners as a family, Henry and Charlotte taking walks in the garden. Anything to calm their nerves and provide the support they were seeking.
Charlotte prayed to The Watcher each night, begging for success.
When she took the pregnancy test, she tried to manage their expectations and not get their hopes up. She took the test, and placed it face down on the counter, and paced her and Henry’s bedroom while Henry sat in front of the fireplace, watching the minutes tick by. When the five minutes was up, Charlotte was so nervous, she refused to re-enter the bathroom. Henry got up and retrieved the test.
Two pink lines stared back at him.
“We did it.” A smile lit his face.
“We did it?” Charlotte confirmed, tears filling her eyes once more.
“We did it.” Henry gathered Charlotte in his arms, cradling her to his chest as the cried, tears of sorrow, grief, and joy.
The next day, they returned to the clinic to confirm; they were pregnant again. Instead of going straight home, they took a detour to Brindleton Bay, where a seaside cemetery held their family mausoleum.
Charlotte knelt in front of the little nameplate: Henry VII Phan. With only one date, his birth and death one in the same.
“You’re going to be a big brother.” She sobbed, trying to feel the joy amongst the sorrow. “You would have been such an amazing brother.” She wiped tears from her cheeks.
Henry held her as long as she needed. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. No words were enough to contain how he felt.
When they finally got home, their red-rimmed eyes landed on their daughters at the dinner table with Yui.
“We have news.” Henry announced, holding Charlotte’s hand in his.
”We’re pregnant again!” Charlotte chimed in.
Yui was on her feet in a moment, hugging Henry and Charlotte. Knowing how much they had been through to get to this point. They sat around the table and discussed names and rooms and all that was to come.
What they didn’t know, was that soon after the announcement, Yui would leave them. It was after a visit to Masaru and his son Theo, she came home with a cough. Nobody thought anything of it. Charlotte made her a dinner of chicken soup, and Yui went to bed early.
In the morning, Henry got up and went down for breakfast and noticed that the chickens were flocking the front porch, like they do when they hadn’t been fed yet.
Odd. It wasn’t like his mother to forget to feed the chickens. Maybe she still wasn’t feeling well. He pulled on his robe and went out to scatter the chicken feed and gather the eggs.
He came inside with the basket of eggs, set it on the kitchen counter, and brewed some tea for Yui.
He knocked on her door, just off the dining room, and heard no answer.
He knocked again, his worry increasing.
He entered the room. The green curtains were closed against the morning sun, giving the room a veil of darkness. He saw Yui asleep in bed, later than she’d slept in in months. Years maybe. She was always up early to care for the chickens or tend to plants in the greenhouse.
“Mama, are you feeling alright?” He placed his palm on her forehead like she had done for him so many times when he was sick growing up.
But instead of a fever, he felt the chill of lifeless flesh.
“Mama?” He felt panicked, his heart raced. He shook her slightly, not wanting to hurt her, but not knowing what to do. “Mama, please.” He fell to his knees, tears already falling, sobs wracking his chest.
The door opened behind him and Riku, their butler, rushed in, followed by Charlotte.
“What happened? She had a cold?” Charlotte fell to her knees beside him.
Riku checked Yui’s pulse and sadly shook her head. She took her phone to the hall to make a call to the paramedics.
“I thought she did. I brought her tea.” He nodded to the spilled liquid on the floor.
“What are we going to do?” Henry clutched Charlotte to him, leaning on her for support.
“Our best. That’s all we can do.” She stroked his hair, trying to comfort him through her own grief. Yui had been like a mother to her for years. And now, she had gone just as quietly as she had lived.
Calls were made. Riku called Masaru and let him know. Friends and family came, dropping off food and flowers.
The coroner said it was heart failure. Just age catching up to her.
Victoria and Elizabeth clung to their uncle Masaru. They had seen the toll grief had taken on their parents after the loss of the baby last year. They didn’t want to burden them with their own.
Victoria fumed with anger, breaking their dollhouse and screaming at Elizabeth when she played with the wrong doll, which was all of them at this point. Henry heard her in the next room raging, but couldn’t tear himself away from the table where he sat holding the hand of his grieving pregnant wife.
Elizabeth was withdrawn, but tried to spend time with her parents. She was quiet, but brought tea and cakes to her parents and uncle, trying to at least get them to eat and talk. Staying silent would do nothing.
Masaru’s girlfriend, Carmen, busied herself in the kitchen stress cooking and taking note of the food brought by friends. She noted down each family so she could compose thank you notes on behalf of the Phans.
By the funeral, the family was subdued. Two huge losses in the last year left them strained. The funeral took place according to Yui’s wishes, and the family felt more at peace afterwards. Inheritance was discussed, and two million simoleons was transferred to Masaru’s family, per Yui’s will.
“We just need to make it so spring,” Charlotte held Henry’s hand, and move it to cover her growing belly. “Things bloom in the spring.”
Months later, as the family was settling into the new routine without Yui, Charlotte went into labor for the third time. Henry supported her as she labored, giving her sips of water and wiping the sweat from her brow. She gave birth to a boy, their long awaited son.
“Welcome to the family, George.” Henry cradled their son in his arms.
The feeling was bitter-sweet. The joy of their son, paired with the grief of their losses of Henry VII and Yui. The grief that they never got to meet. The emotions clashed like waves, mixing into something completely new and unique.
They brought George home, the newborn heir to the Phan legacy, and settled into life as parents of three. That night, Henry stood in the nursery doorway, watching Charlotte nurse George. The house was quiet, but never empty. Not anymore. Life would go on. Louder, messier, more uncertain than ever. And somewhere, down the line, he knew their story wasn’t over.
I rush across campus from figure painting to mixed media, my art bag slapping against my leg with every step. It’s overloaded with tools, brushes, paints, assortments of paper, and sketchbooks and my backpack, it’s straps digging into my shoulders, isn’t any better. Then, the art bag’s handle fails me. Supplies go skittering across the sidewalk. My watercolor pan explodes, flinging dried pans of paint in every direction. I fall to my knees, heart pounding, trying to gather everything before it gets stepped on.
The clocktower in town chimes, letting me know that I am now, officially, late for class. I huff out a breath, frustration rolling over me in waves.
After freshman year, I am finally into most of my core foundational classes. Gone are the “drawing 101” classes filled with non-art students just trying to fulfill a gen-ed requirements. This year, I’m diving into new techniques and more challenging materials. I study figure painting on Mondays and Wednesdays, currently working on the foundations of anatomical drawing in conjunction with the biology department, one of the most unique collaborations on campus. This is followed by mixed media art, which I am currently late to. I am in the middle of a project where we had to create art using non-traditional means. Meaning, we can use traditional materials, in non-traditional ways.
There are students of all different backgrounds in the class. There is a girl who is majoring in fashion who is using thin sheets of wood and dried acrylic paint to create a dress. A fiber-artist who is partnering with the science department to create a bio-yarn that she can knit into a desired shape and then cure into a sculpture. The whole point of the class is to think outside the traditional bounds of art.
I am still sketching out ideas.
I place the last pan of paint into my metal case, and pick up my art bag in my arms. I check my phone and see I’m seven minutes late and still a few minutes away. I heft my way to class and get a sympathetic look from my professor when she sees my broken bag.
“Tess, is everything ok?”
”Yes, professor. My bag broke and my supplies went everywhere.”
”Oh dear, I hate when that happens! I have a sewing kit in the fiber crafts cabinet if you want to fix it real quick. I won’t take off any points. You’ve suffered enough.” She chuckled.
“Thank you. I’ll take a moment to do that then get to work on my project idea.”
I set my items down on my table that I share with Lillian, another art major, and go grab some heavy duty thread and a needle from the drawer, then sit to sew up the strap.
“Hey Tess, what’s up?” She is working on color matching some pastels to a bouquet of flowers.
“Not much. Just had my bag break on the way here.”
”Oof, that sucks. Make sure you reinforce the other strap while you’re fixing that one.”
I nod.
”Have you thought about what you want to do for your project yet?” She is mixing together a few different pink pastels with a palette knife.
“I don’t know. I have a few ideas, but none of them feel right.” I watch the way the knife spreads the waxy pastel.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She muses.
”Wait. That’s it.” My pulse quickens as I watch the pastel smear under her knife. “I want to use clay, to represent my family business. But I don’t want to just throw something on a wheel. What if I sculpt with a palette knife? Or -“ My breath catches, “Or, I can pipe it!” I drop the supplies in my hands; I can finish repairing my bag after class. I snatch my sketchbook and turn to a fresh page. On the page, I sketch out the fjords of Nordhaven. My home for so many years and such a huge part of my heritage. I notate textures, grass and water, clouds and rocks.
I grab my phone and pull up Simterest to look at piping tip shapes. My suspicions are confirmed; cake piping tips could create those textures I want on my piece. I notate the tip type and numbers alongside each texture.
Now, for my “canvas”. I want something unique and as I ponder and look around the room for inspiration, I catch sight of a bin full of wood scraps in the back of the class.
I set down my sketchbook and go to search through the wood. I find a piece of wood that looked familiar, like the type of wood Ama’s favorite cutting board is made of. It’s about twice as long as it was tall, and about an inch thick.
“Did you have an idea?” My professor comes up beside me.
“I think so. What kind of wood is this? Do you know?”
She looks at it for a moment, observing the cured bark on the edges.
“Acacia, I believe. Look at the color and grain.” She pointed to the marbled coloration of dark cinnamon wood among the almost golden-yellow.
“That’s perfect!” I remembered why this was Ama’s favorite. Acacia was significant in the Jewish faith for being the wood that the Mishkan, parts of the Tabernacle, had been built out of. It strikes me that this piece of acacia, the perfect size and shape, the material of my family faith, was just waiting for me to find it.
“What’s your idea?” My professor follows me to my table.
”I want to do a landscape on this piece.”
”Tess, many artist paint on wood.”
”I know. I don’t want to use paint. I want to pipe clay. I want to use the clay to show the texture and depth of the landscape, all held on this acacia wood.”
”Oh! I love that idea! And what landscape will you choose?”
”The fjords. So I want to showcase the rocky shores and waterways of my home.”
“Amazing! I approve! Please let me know if you need anything, from supplies to advice. I love your idea!”
I get to work blocking my piece on the acacia wood, where the mountains will blend into the sky, where the waves will break in the midground, and where the grasses and flowers will sprout from the foreground. By the end of class, my hands are smudged with pencil, but my mind is flowing with ideas.
Days later, I have been working on my project all week. The big hurdle I am facing is how to affix the clay to the wood and still be able to fire it.
“What if you just don’t fire it?” Mio suggests from her desk as she works on a new tattoo design instead of her homework again.
”The clay would be too fragile.” I mutter, unsuccessfully researching some kind of earthware clay that could fire at temperatures that don’t damage the acacia.
“I’m sure there’s some kind of symbolism to that.”
I consider her words. She isn’t wrong. The fjords are such a unique ecosystem, and it is always changing, the ice and snow of the winter expanding in cracks in the rocks and causing constant changes. The fjords themselves were carved in the rock by years of glaciers dragging through the channels. And my view of home was ever changing, what once was a safe community now feels like a small town. What was once home is now a place I visit between semesters.
“I’ll see how it works. Maybe it will be sturdy enough.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, my pencil scratching against my sketchbook, her stylus tapping away on her screen.
“Are you still able to come with Minato and I to the flea market at the spice market district this weekend?”
I look at my planner and note that all of my homework and projects are done except for my acacia piece.
“I can spare a day.” I grin in her direction.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles back.
We finish out the week in the art studio, Mio and Minato working on their laptops while I sculpt the shape of the mountains in clay. I alternate between a palette knife, a stiff brush, and a sharp piece of flat slate to try and get the perfect organic rocky texture. The clay I am working with is darkened with charcoal giving it a dark gray and black marbled texture. I itch my face and feel the grit of the material smudge my cheek. It’s times like these that I am thankful for my veil; not just connecting me to my heritage, but also serving the practical purpose of keeping my hair out of my work.
Adding the finishing touches to my mountains, I sit back on my stool, my back aching and my hands cramping.
“I think I’m done for the night. This needs to dry before I can work on the midground.” I look over at Mio and Minato and notice the darkness through the window behind them. “What time is it?”
Minato yawns and looks at his computer. “11:11. Make a wish!” He rubs his eyes and closes the computer.
”I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
”The night’s young!” Mio chimes in “Actually, it’s time for second dinner. How does pizza sound?”
I nod in agreement, realizing how my stomach grumbles in response for me. I’m starving. I go to wash my hands and wipe the clay from my face, then go to hang my smock on the hook with my name above it. The thick canvas smock was a gift from Ama for the new semester and every time I wear it, I feel like she’s here with me.
I place my acacia piece on the top of the clay shelf with help from Minato “I need your height” Okada, and we grab our bags to go and get some pizza. I am grateful that they have strict procedures to help cater to the many dietary restrictions of the students who attend the school. Minato orders a couple pieces of sweet corn pizza, and Mio gets the tikka masala. I order the personal pan cheese pizza with olives. They always use kosher cheese, so this is always the easiest order and keep kosher. They even line the pan with an aluminum “personal pan” so I can be confident that no meat has touched my pan.
I sit down with my pizza a few minutes later, and we eat in pleasant but tired silence. I savor the salty cheesy acidic taste of my pizza, definitely one of my semi-guilty pleasures on campus. This and gelato they serve outside the main student center. I only wish it was open as late as the pizza place was.
When we return to the dorm after a short walk across campus, we go our separate ways; Minato to his room, Mio to go change for bed, and me to go shower off all the dirt and grime from “day in the clay”.
One benefit of getting back so late is the bathroom is empty.
I bring my pajamas and shower bin with me and set it in the front half of the stall before I begin taking my clothes off. It’s strange how much my clothing choices have changed in the past year and a half or so. Today, for instance, I wore jeans and a t-shirt. Which, yeah, I know it isn’t anything crazy. In fact, it’s super normal. But where I used to wear almost all long skirts and dresses and kept my arms covered past my elbows, I am now beginning to blend in with the rest of the student body. It has definitely given me a bit more ease of movement when I am working, especially not having so much fabric tangling around my legs.
I put my veil and clothing into my laundry bag and step into the shower, letting the steaming water rush over my body. I soap up with a shea black soap that smells spiced and earthy that Minato swears by. I note how my body has changed since coming to school. Where my stomach was once more rounded and soft, it was flattened out slightly from so many days walking to class and gym sessions with Mio. She always laughs that she works out so she can eat whatever she wants. Meanwhile, my list of things I can eat is so restricted as it is, so it has had a more slimming effect on me. I can’t say I dislike the change, though Ama always comments that I need to eat more.
My arms are strong from years of wedging clay, and my legs are stocky. Aba says its from my “Northern European roots”. I am somewhere between thin and chubby, not quite falling in either camp. But, as I scrub my hair, feeling my nails dig into my scalp and rinsing the rose scented soap down the drain, I feel good. I feel more like a woman than the girl I once was. It feels right, like I am growing into the body I am meant to have.
I turn off the water, dry off, and slip into my fluffy sage pajamas. Hair wrapped in a towel, I head back to my room, exhausted but content. The clock reads 1:37am. Far past my bedtime, I smile to myself.
Tomorrow, or today, I guess, we’re off to San Myshuno for a day in the city.
I’ve spent all week shaping the fjords of my past in clay. Maybe this weekend, the city will shape a portion of my future in me.
Chapter 2: Freshman Year
Chapter 4: (Coming Soon!)
Charlotte Gillian arrived at the University of Britechester with ink-stained fingers and a dream: to study literature, to write stories that moved people, and to maybe, just maybe, find a place to belong. With her raven hair, hazel eyes, and quiet demeanor, at first, Charlotte was more observer than participant, arriving for dual enrollment classes, caught between the adolescence of high school and the demands of university. She spent most of her days, when she wasn’t in class, at the library and the canal, scribbling thoughts in margins and pressing wildflowers into her notebooks.
From the very first week, though, her gaze found him; Henry VI Phan.
He was magnetic. A brilliant history student with a sharp wit and easy charisma, Henry was the heir to the powerful Phan dynasty and not exactly known for subtlety. Charlotte watched him from afar, never daring to hope. His reputation preceded him: charming, ambitious, and constantly surrounded by admirers. He dated casually, collecting brief romances like one might collect postcards. And yet, Charlotte noticed something others didn’t, a kind of restlessness in him. Beneath the political polish and inherited expectations, Henry looked like someone still searching for home.
They became friends by accident, or perhaps by fate. A shared debate class. A mistimed coffee order. A late-night study session that turned into hours of talking. He found solace in her quiet honesty. She found amusement in his sudden attention. They had skirted the edges of something deeper for years, but that coffee run, with Henry nursing his heartbreak and Charlotte laughing gently at his dramatics, shifted everything. In the warm quiet of that Windenburg cafe, they saw each other clearly for the first time.
Charlotte, by then, was no longer content to watch from the sidelines. And Henry, standing on the precipice of national leadership, realized there was no one he trusted more than her. After ending all his other romantic entanglements, they dated for some months until he whisked her away to Ciudad Enamorada. There, beneath the famed “Wall of Love,” he asked her to be his wife. Not just the First Lady of the nation, but of his partner for all the things to come.
They engraved their initials on the wall that night. C.G. + H.P. Eternal.
Returning to Ham House was both a fairytale and a challenge. Charlotte was quickly swept into the Phan family's whirlwind of political expectations and public appearances. But she stayed grounded, re-enrolling to finish her degree with the encouragement of Henry and her new in-laws, Yui and Henry V. The winter wedding at Notre Sim Cathedral, glittering with lights and rich with symbolism, cemented her place not just as Henry’s wife, but as a woman of her own quiet power.
A Year Later
After settling into her role as First Lady, Charlotte yearned to grow their family. But month after month passed without success. Charlotte’s heart ached with each negative test. By their first anniversary, Charlotte was distraught. Henry VI took her to San Myshuno for dinner at the exclusive luxury restaurant, Penny’s Place, but her mood was sullen.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She picked at her salad, achingly sad despite the luxurious and festive surroundings.
Henry VI reached across the cloth-covered table and took her hand.
“It’s going to be okay, Charlotte. We’ll get through this. Maybe we can see a doctor? See if there are any causes or options we can look into.”
She gazed across the table at her husband, President Henry VI, ruler of SimNation. He was so confident and at ease. She tried to draw on that strength to carry on.
Charlotte booked their appointments for the next week.
Both Charlotte’s and Henry VI’s fertilities were tested. Charlotte’s results came back completely healthy and normal.
But Henry’s tests revealed the heartbreaking truth. It was his fertility that was low. So low, in fact, that it would be nearly impossible to become pregnant naturally.
The ride back to Ham House in the armored sedan was silent. The sunny day in Windenburg did nothing to brighten the gloom that hung over the couple.
”I just don’t understand.” Henry muttered, his voice breaking.
Charlotte looked at him, and for the first time since his father passed, she saw tears streaking his cheeks. The relief she felt that it wasn’t her fault receded and was replaced by guilt. She had spent months fearing that the fault was hers, that her body had failed. She didn’t think how it would affect Henry to find out that it was him all along, an unexpected blow to his confidence.
“These things happen, darling.” She scooched across the seat to sit closer to her husband. “We’ll figure it out.”
”I just… Charlotte, I have spent all these years trying so hard to be perfect.” The sorrow in his voice broke her heart.”I go to the gym, I play piano, I paint, I lead this country. But I can’t give you a family. I can’t give us a family.”
Charlotte held his hand tightly, thankful for the partition between the back of the car and the driver.
“The doctor didn’t say it was impossible. Just a bit more difficult.”
”I’ve spent my whole life preparing to lead a nation, to carry on the Phan name. But if I had to give it all up. The power, the press, even the legacy. I would. Just to hold our child in my arms.”
She reached for her purse and pulled out a brochure about In-Vitro Fertilization.
“Would you be interested in looking into this?” She passed the brochure over to him. ”It’s expensive, but I don’t think that’s an issue. I’m willing to try if you are.” She held his hand again, feeling the way he clasped hers like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He took a deep breath, and resolve sharpened his features.
“We can look into it.”
The days following the appointment were filled with tense research, gentle reassurances, and long nights reading about success rates. But eventually, they decided.
Together, they made the decision to pursue IVF, a path full of hope, heartache, and resilience. They had regular appointments at the fertility clinic, and after they implanted the fertilized embryos, Charlotte was excited to announce to Henry that they had been successful. Baby Phan was on the way!
The months dragged on, and the couple took every opportunity to celebrate their miracle. They attended Lamaze classes at the local hospital, read stories to their unborn child, and played classical music for them.
The baby shower was held at Ham House and all of their friends and family celebrated with them when the cake was revealed to be pink. Though Henry VI wanted a son, he was delighted to be becoming a father at all. He’d always imagined passing down the name, Henry VII, but when he saw the pink inside the cake, all he could do was laugh and pull Charlotte into his arms.
“She’s going to change the world,” He said, beaming.
Then, during a late summer maternity photoshoot in the Ham House gardens, Charlotte doubled over with a sharp pain. The baby was coming. She delivered naturally after hours of labor, and Victoria, named for her strength and the legacy she would carry, was born.
Only about a year later, they attempted IVF again and were again successful. This time, they chose not to know the sex of the baby before the birth.
Charlotte labored with grace and support, swaying in Henry’s arms and even napping on the hospital couch between contractions. Elizabeth was born, blue-green eyes wide and searching, already fiercely curious about the new world around her.
But despite the joy of two daughters, Henry VI and Charlotte longed for a son to carry on the family name. When the girls became toddlers, they tried IVF again. Success followed swiftly, and this time, they found out: it was a boy. Henry VII. Their little prince. The family celebrated privately together, looking towards this new chapter
Four months into the pregnancy, Charlotte came home from a long day of work; back-to-back meetings, a headache she couldn’t;t shake, and an ache in her lower back that was causing her to shift uncomfortably all day, unable to find relief. Maybe it was just fatigue. She ran a hot shower, hoping to relieve her tight muscles and ease the tension.
But when she looked down, the water wasn’t clear anymore.
Red swirled around her ankles.
“Henry!! Henry, come here! Something’s wrong!” She screamed, shutting off the steaming water and pressing a towel between her legs to try to stop the bleeding.
“What is it?” He rushed to the door, his eyes reflecting the horror Charlotte felt when he saw her tears and the bloody towel she was holding against herself.
They got Charlotte into a robe as quickly as possible and rushed to the hospital, leaving their daughters in the capable hands of their grandmother, Yui, and the butler.
Charlotte clutched Henry’s hand the entire ride, wincing in pain as her body cramped and wiping tears away with bloody hands. She already sensed what the doctors would confirm at the hospital: they’d lost the baby. Her sobs shook her shoulders. Her arms felt hollow. Her womb, a quiet cavern of loss. Henry tried to support his wife, but was also lost to his grief. They clung together, wrecked. No answers. Just pain and sorrow.
”Sometimes there isn’t a reason.” The doctor tried to counsel them.
But that information wasn’t a comfort. At least if there was a reason, Henry and Charlotte felt as if they could face it together. As it was, they felt like they were fighting shadows.
When Charlotte and Henry returned from the hospital, they were withdrawn. Charlotte was disinterested in her writing and robotic in her work. Henry felt hopeless. They placed a memorial for their lost son in their entryway.
Charlotte found some healing in speaking her messages to the whisp. It was supposed to be for Victoria and Elizabeth, to tell their baby brother how much they wanted to meet him and how badly they missed him. But Charlotte would wake in the middle of the night, restless, and sit by the candlelit alter at night, telling her lost son of all the things she had hoped they would do together someday. She wanted to write new stories for him. She wanted to bandage his knees when he fell in the garden. She wanted to watch him grow up, teasing his sisters and learning new things. She mourned that they would never have those moments. Too many nights, she fell asleep clutching the wisp to her chest, kneeling against the altar.
Henry saw his wife’s sorrow, and truly, he felt it himself. But in his current role, it was impossible to support her like he felt she deserved. He could barely take the time he needed.
So he decided to take a step back. During the election that year, though he was a beloved ruler, he chose to not run for reelection.
“I need to be with my family right now,” His voice stuck in his throat while making his closing address. “I have tried to lead with strength and dignity. But today, I choose to lead at home.
His constituents were downtrodden, but understanding. Henry was still so young, not even thirty. His family needed him.
Henry VI worked on programming, a passion he had long held, and opened a tech startup. This allowed him the freedom to work at home, raise his girls, and support his wife.
In time, their grief softened. Waking up to face the day became a less daunting task. The girls grew from toddlers to children, Victoria introverted and thoughtful, and Elizabeth boisterous and vibrant. They couldn’t be more different, and Henry couldn’t help but remember how he and Masaru had been as children.
Mairead Snowing was the eldest of the Snowing siblings, and with that came a natural sense of responsibility, but also fierce independence. With her signature blue hair and big heart, Mairead stood out from a young age. She was often the one her younger siblings, Amy, Elena, Chad, and later Demi, looked up to. She spent many afternoons baking in the kitchen with her mom, Jaqueline, teaching Amy how to frost cupcakes or letting little Chad lick the spoon. But her true love blossomed later: global cuisine, especially after a family vacation to Salvadorada that awakened a passion in her for spices, history, and the intersection of food and culture.
After high school, Mairead moved to a small coastal home in Brindleton Bay to pursue her culinary dreams. It was quiet and a little lonely at first, until she adopted Chloe, a loyal German Shepherd with an appetite for leftovers, and Roger, a scrappy raccoon who showed up on her porch and simply never left. She welcomed the chaos.
Mairead’s career soared quickly. Her personality, vibrant, witty, and kind, made her a natural for TV, and she became a celebrity chef known for her globally inspired comfort dishes. Still, it wasn’t all work. She met Jovan, a charismatic and slightly older man who worked in stock investments. Their connection was instant: he grounded her ambition with quiet logic, and she brought warmth and unpredictability to his orderly world.
They married at the Château in Windenburg on a summer evening surrounded by friends, family, and lanterns strung from the trees. Jovan’s vows included a promise to try every one of her terrible experimental dishes at least once, something her siblings found hilarious.
Their son Nicholás was born a year later. Mairead had a difficult pregnancy, but it only strengthened her resolve to raise a son who was brave, curious, and proud of where he came from. On a trip to Salvadorada when Nicholás was about ten, they got lost briefly in the jungle, and while Mairead was panicking, Nicholás was wide-eyed with wonder. That trip sealed something in him, a lifelong fascination with the region’s culture, history, and people.
Even as her fame grew, Mairead remained close to her family. She FaceTimed with Amy weekly to gossip about work and new recipes. She checked in on Elena, encouraging her sister’s tech career while gently supporting her through her struggles with body image. She teased Chad endlessly about his muscles and brought Demi back souvenirs from every vacation, one time even a (safely preserved) dried bat wing she swore was magical.
Mairead aged gracefully and proudly, her legacy not just in cookbooks or episodes of her food show, but in how she shaped her siblings’ lives. She taught them, nurtured them, and most of all, reminded them that life should be savored, every last bite.
Author’s Note: These chapters will be overviews of Henry and Charlotte, as the current stories are more focused on their children. But I want to give adequate background on the family before we get to the next generation. Enjoy!
Henry VI Phan
From the moment Henry VI took his first breath, the weight of legacy was already nestled beside him in his crib. Born to the environmental engineer Henry V and the compassionate homemaker and part-time farmer, Yui Phan, the youngest Phan heir was raised within the gilded halls of Ham House, one part sanctuary, one part stage for the public eye. Even as a child, his days were steeped in civic duty and gentle rigor: piano recitals on Sundays, political discussions over breakfast, and evenings on volunteering alongside his parents at soup kitchens, animal shelters, and city clean-ups.
He grew up alongside his older half-brother, Masaru, Yui’s son from a previous relationship. The boys were different in temperament; where Henry VI was confident, Masaru was timid. Where Henry VI was athletic, Masaru was more intellectually inclined. But despite their differences, the brothers loved to spend time together. Henry V had adopted him into the family as a child with open arms, but kept the stipulation that his biological son would inherit the estate. It wasn’t long until Henry V and Yui welcomed Henry VI to the world, a brother for seven year old Masaru, and an heir to the Phan fortune.
Henry VI relished his looming responsibility as the heir to the Phan name, meanwhile Masaru, who still remembered his life with his mother living in a one bedroom apartment in San Myshuno, basked in the newfound life of luxury. Henry VI wasn’t blind to the things his brother had gone through growing up. He sat in the treehouse, mango ice cream sticky on his hands, while Masaru told him about the late nights when Yui had to work late at the bar across the plaza. Coming home to an empty apartment and having to do his homework on his own over the sound of city traffic and the taste of microwaved pizza. Henry VI heard his brother’s story and knew that he wanted to make the world a better place for people, especially children like his brother had been.
By high school, Henry VI was already celebrated as the golden boy of Copperdale High, charming, disciplined, and devastatingly intelligent. He graduated early, top of his class, and rather than throw a raucous party, spent his Friday night with his parents, absorbing final lessons on integrity, power, and the burden of responsibility.
From a legacy of doctors, successful businessmen, and an engineer, Henry VI was expected to further his family’s legacy and pursue a career in politics. On a Saturday, he turned eighteen beneath a summer sky, blowing out candles on a lemon blueberry cake his mother made from scratch. It was sweet, simple, and symbolic, just like his relationship with his family. That night, Henry V and Yui danced quietly in the garden, proud of the man their son had become.
Then, on Sunday, he packed his things and left for the University of Britechester. He would major in history for the sake of the political career his parents envisioned, but in the back of his mind lingered his fascination with computers, algorithms, and the way technology could transform societies. Britechester gave him the room to stretch, to explore... and to charm. Though Henry never lacked admirers, eight notable flames left their mark by graduation, he was restless. No one could keep up with both his ambition and his heart.
He spent hours in the student center, utilizing their facilities to study, workout, and practice his artistic skills. Many evenings were spent alongside a date, eating in the dining hall, sharing flirty glances over their textbooks, and occasionally sharing a steamy romp in the showers. But while Henry VI was successful in school and his social life, he was not yet satisfied.
After graduating with honors, he returned to Ham House and climbed rapidly through the ranks of SimNation’s political sphere. Under the banner of his “World United” platform, Henry VI preached global cooperation, sustainability, and education for all. The press loved him, the people adored him, but still, something was missing.
It was time to settle down.
Henry VI created a Cupid’s Corner account, and went on a few failed blind dates. One, to El Patron in Oasis Springs, ended with salsa on his shirt and margarita in his hair. Maybe a hot-headed woman wasn’t ideal for him.
He tried going on dates with some of his friends with benefits from Britechester. Girls he had met and hooked up with. Several hadn’t finished Uni, which was a bit of a disqualifier.
“I want someone who’s as driven as me.” He told Yui when he came home dejected.
A few had traits he couldn’t stand, like jealousy or hating children. In his line of work, he knew he would have days and night away. He would be in high demand, especially if he achieved his dream of becoming the president of SimNation. And he wanted children. Especially a son to carry the name Henry VII. He rolled his eyes when he met with his old flames who told him time after time that they didn’t want children. He respected their decision, but he bemoaned that his priorities were not accepted with the same kind of respect.
He imagined himself rocking his son, his own little Henry VII, to sleep in the same chair his parents once used. Reading bedtime stories to his children as they drifted off to sleep. Teaching them about The Watcher and how to lead moral lives under The Watcher’s eye. The images in his mind made his heart ache with yearning he couldn’t quite place. How was it possible that he had everything, but he felt willing to give anything to have the future he envisioned for himself and the someday mother of his children?
Henry: What is it with nobody wanting kids?
Charlotte: Well, “hey”, to you too, Henry. And, I think it’s a lot of women wanting to wait until they have a career, a home, and a steady income.
Henry: But i can provide that…
Charlotte: Use your reading comprehension skills. Did I say they want you to have those things?
Henry: I know… I’m just struggling. I’ve been at this for months.
Charlotte: And you’ll find someone. It takes time. You just have to find someone who’s ideals line up with yours. That’s part of the struggle with being such a successful person; it’s hard for others to stack up.
Henry sighed, knowing she was right despite not wanting to hear it. Doubt plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves. What if finding someone suitable wasn’t enough?
Henry: You always know what to say.
Charlotte: It’s almost like that’s my whole degree field.
Henry smiled at his phone. His close friend, Charlotte Gillian, had been a steady presence since they started university. He was two years older, and they had only met because she was taking dual enrollment literature classes at sixteen. Now, four years later, he was twenty-two and she was twenty with a year left on her schedule. She understood how it felt to be one of the younger students on campus due to graduating high school early. She had always been there for him and he loved the time they spent together.
The two went out for coffee at the local Windenburg coffee shop, a two story coffee shop and book store. Charlotte wore a smart, flattering teal flower print shirt, the color complementing her cool-toned skin, paired with tan shorts. Casual, but polished. Her hair was in her signature messy bun, pinned in place with a pencil. She chattered on about a new story she was outlining with her butterscotch latte in hand. She had always been ambitious about writing and Henry lost count of the sheer number of story ideas she had pitched to him.
He discussed the most recent struggle he had been facing, a new bill that he was fighting for to help provide childcare to sims in need. Charlotte listened thoughtfully, giving feedback on logistics and wording of the bill. Henry took notes on his phone on revisions to the childcare bill to review when he got home.
When he looked up at her, it finally hit him like a train.
Charlotte was everything he wanted in a partner.
She was intelligent and kind. Ambitious and brave and brilliant. She never once shied away from the less savory parts of his world, always offering a new perspective or trusting that The Watcher knows what they are doing. She was a devout member of the Church of The Watcher, and lived her life accordingly, believing that leading a moral life and achieving your goals would please The Watcher and lead to rebirth in the next life. She grounded him and reminded him of the bigger picture when the world became overwhelming.
He reached across the table and took her chilled hand in his.
“Charlotte, have you ever considered us dating?”
A shy smile spread across her face.
”Only every day.” She admitted, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Henry was speechless.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?!”
“I was waiting for you to realize! And to grow up a little.” She laughed at his surprise. “You were so busy sleeping your way across Britechester, I wanted to wait until you were done with that. I take it you’re done ‘sowing your wild oats’?” She raised an eyebrow in his directions.
“Geez, Charlotte, no oats were sown. I used protection.” Now he was the one blushing, but his mouth quirked in a sheepish smile as he looked at Charlotte’s amused face.
“I had hoped.”
Henry stroked her hand, looking at her like it was the first time. Her hazel eyes, warm greens and browns stark against the blue undertones of her skin, glinted with delight.
“It’s important to me that you know what a relationship between us would entail.”
”You’re not just looking for a girlfriend, I know. You’re looking for a wife and a potential First Lady. And, a mother for your children someday. You’ve mentioned more than a few times.”
”Gosh, I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner, Charlotte.”
She squeezed his hand and smiled. “It all happened on The Watcher’s time.”
The couple dated for a few months, Henry spoiling Charlotte with shopping trips and the two enjoying dinners and coffee dates together between Henry’s work and Charlotte’s school.
Henry danced with Charlotte at charity galas, but purposefully kept her out of the limelight while he successfully campaigned for the SimNation Presidential Election. Balancing his loving relationship with his new role as the political leader for the country was tough, but Charlotte encouraged him and bore the stresses with grace.
When the semester ended, Henry whisked Charlotte away to Ciudad Enamorada for a vacation together. There, before the famed Wall of Love, he carved their initials and asked her to be his wife. With tears in her eyes and the sound of the city surrounding them, she said yes. The engagement party at Ham House was the talk of the SimNation, but their love, intimate and steady, was anything but performative.
Charlotte moved into Ham House and resumed her studies with support from the Phans. The two delayed their wedding until she finished earning her degree. Henry agreed with her that he didn’t want to pressure her into the role of First Lady before she had finished her own goal.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, under falling snowflakes and the stained glass of Notre Sim Cathedral, Henry VI married the woman he had waited so long to truly see. Influential families from across SimNation attended, but nothing could eclipse the joy between Henry and Charlotte.
Legacy had always followed Henry VI like a shadow. But now, as Charlotte took his arm beneath the cathedral’s colored glass, it didn’t feel like a burden anymore. It felt like a future.
My heart felt full to bursting. It was a pain that I would suffer a million times over if it meant that I got to see the scene in front of me just once more.
Jade slept soundly, the furrow on her brow that she had sported since she started having trouble nursing, finally gone. Her pain, her self-doubt, had killed me inside. I had never felt so helpless, knowing that there was no action I could take to fix this for her. But my glorious wife had pressed on, and had been successful. Kiyomi, my precious pink-faced red-haired princess, rested in the bassinet, tiny lips puckered and belly full.
I was milling about the room gathering all of our belongings so that Jade wouldn’t have to do anything when it was time to leave in the morning. Her suitcase with her clothes was packed by the door along with my duffel bag. Kiyo’s little diaper bag was packed up too, but always at the ready for another change.
I gathered my laptop and all of our chargers, scattered in plugs all over the room. In two days, this room had become something of a sacred haven. And now it was time to return to our home above the city.
I looked at our daughter asleep in her bassinet. Would she like the penthouse? I knew it wasn’t a traditional upbringing, no yard to run around in. But we had the grassy terrace that I could build a playset on. She would have sun and sky and a view of our city sprawling across the horizon. We could always visit her grandmothers in the country. She could have both. I would give her both. My heart swelled in my chest; I would give her anything and everything.
My watch buzzed on my wrist, silently announcing that it was 9am. We were planning to settle in at home this morning, and then later, Opal and Morgan wanted to come over to meet their new niece and let baby Kore meet her cousin.
I moved over to my sleeping wife and brushed a stray bit of hair off her forehead.
”Hey, baby. Time to get our princess home.” I whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her freckled cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open, that warm color of honey and topaz, and she smiled up at me.
“Let me just get my bag all -“
”It’s packed.” I reassured.
“Oh! And Kiyomi’s bag, I need -“
”It’s also packed, but we can always give her a change before we drive home if we need to.” I nodded to the near-bursting diaper bag sitting on top of the counter by the doorway.
“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” She gave me a smile.
”I’ve got to start practicing now. Today it’s a diaper bag, tomorrow it’ll be shopping bags at the mall. I have to be at the top of my game for my girls.” I took her hand and lead her to the bathroom to get changed. I stood in the doorway, keeping an eye on my wife as she changed and on my daughter while she slept.
When Jade was done, her hair rebraided behind her head and soft cotton pajamas covering her skin, she came back to stand with me beside Kiyomi.
“I can’t believe we’re parents.” She put her arms around me and snuggled into me.
“It still doesn’t quite feel real.” I press my lips against the crown of her head.
The nurses came around for their morning rounds and checked on Jade and Kiyomi one more time before the doctors signed off on their discharge papers. I texted one of our guards to pull the SUV around and had another come in to help bring the belongings to the car. My attention remained on my girls.
Jade was put into a wheelchair to be taken to the car and a nurse wheeled her beside me while I carried Kiyomi, tucked and buckled into her little car seat.
I put Kiyomi into the backseat of the running SUV first before returning to support Jade and helping her into the back seat next to our daughter. I watched her double and triple check the buckles of the car seat and then turn to buckle herself in. Once my girls were settled, I went to take my place in the driver’s seat. I wasn’t about to trust anybody else with this task.
I settled myself behind the wheel and checked my mirrors again. And again. I turned on the air for the back seat, but then turned it off. What if the AC made Kiyo cold? I put the SUV in drive, but my foot was lead on the brake. My pulse was erratic and my hands tense on the steering wheel.
I had driven into near-war zones. Fled under heavy gunfire. Jumped out of cars where the brakes had been cut or that had bombs planted underneath. I had driven to meetings with some of the most dangerous men and women in the world, knowing they wanted nothing more than to see me dead at their feet.
This fear surpassed it all.
“Michael? Is everything ok?” Jade leaned over from the back seat, her warm hand on my shoulder snapping me back to reality.
I almost jumped out of my skin.
My breath came out in huffs.
“I’m sorry.” My voice felt thick in my throat. “I was just checking everything.”
“I know. You’ve got this. I trust you, Michael.” She smiled back at me in the rear view mirror and squeezed my shoulder before leaning back in her seat.
I rechecked the mirrors once more, and released the brake to begin the drive home. I was hypervigilant, trying to go the speed limit but consistently going slower, checking every car next to me like each vehicle held a threat. By the time we rolled into our private garage underneath our building, sweat dampened my shirt and my hands were slick against the steering wheel.
I exhaled a breath and out the car in park.
We made it.
I shakily exited the driver’s seat and opened the door behind me. Jade’s finger was clasped in our daughters chubby little hand as Kiyo slept. I couldn’t stop from gazing at the perfect sight in front of me; my wife, leaned over the car seat, turned protectively towards Kiyo. Motherhood suited her like a breath, as if a part of her had always been meant to care for our child. And Kiyomi, my daughter, my princess, fast asleep, red hair tousled, eyes closed, and tiny red eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she rested safe. Fully trusting me to protect her.
And I promised, silently but devoutly, in that gray garage, a temple of concrete and fluorescent lighting, that I would continue to protect her with my life.
—
The elevator climbed higher and higher. I held Kiyomi’s car seat in my hand. Jade stood against my other side, my arm resting on her hip. Kiyo fussed in her seat as I’m sure her ears popped for the first time. It was an odd feeling, I knew, and I thought about how it must feel for someone so small to feel that for the first time ever and not know why. I realized as the elevator dinged for our floor how this was how I had to view things now. Everything was happening to my daughter for the first time. I wanted to be more understanding and more supportive than my parents were. I wanted to take my time to explain things to her. To teach her and encourage her creativity. I wanted to encourage her trust that I would be there to help her through all these firsts.
We unlocked the door and went straight to her nursery. We had taken time with an interior designer to create a room that would be spacious and calm. With a crib just inside, tucked against the far wall, a rocking chair and table for Jade to rock her and nurse, and a changing table. There were shelves and cabinets built into the wall to hold her already copious amounts of clothes and toys. Diapers filled baskets and books filled shelves, and against the floor to ceiling windows was a set of couches. We had agreed that, for now, having a seating area in the room would be ideal. We could both spend time here with her, and Jade had admitted that she wanted to make sure there was a place for her to sleep down here just in case. She was already nervous to leave our baby alone, and I couldn’t blame her for her anxiety.
We’d agreed on light woods and a calming sage green. The walls were decorated with paintings Jade had worked on during her pregnancy, some abstract, some of cute baby animals, and some hinting at the places we had traveled like Salvadorada and Tomarang. Light curtains covered the windows providing a shield from the morning sunlight.
I put Kiyomi’s car seat on the table in the center of the room, and unbuckled her. Jade lowered herself to the couch and reached for our squirming squalling daughter. I chuckled and sat next to Jade, pressed close to her as we both cooed and calmed Kiyomi.
Unimpressed, Kiyomi’s whines became wails. Jade clicked her tongue against her teeth and unbuttoned her pajama top, and cradled Kiyo to her chest to eat.
“Maybe the swallowing will help her ears pop.” She whispered to herself.
It must have worked, because Kiyomi drank greedily, her appetite apparently undampened, and when she was finished, Jade passed her to me to burp her so she could use the pump on her other breast. Kiyo fell asleep quickly on my shoulder. Her little snores, inches from my ear, were my new favorite sound. The sound of her resting, fed, safe, and calm, in my arms.
I had tasked some of our staff to bring our bags upstairs. A few entered the room, silent as mice with one hard look from me, realizing that the baby was asleep, and set down the diaper bag and other belongings from the hospital.
Jade pumped and cleaned up, then got her phone to see if we had any updates from Opal.
She stepped into the hallway with the phone, her voice bright with excitement. When she returned, she told me that her family was nearby. In fact, they were at the plaza only blocks away getting lunch. I smiled, appreciating how they were so excited to see us and Kiyomi that they were already here, but respected our boundaries enough to wait on our call. Jade sat on the couch next to me, again, telling me how they were just going to finish up their meals and then be up in about twenty minutes.
Jade fell asleep against my shoulder in minutes, still exhausted from the strains of being a new mother. With my wife asleep against one shoulder and my daughter asleep over the other, I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I would rather be.
It felt like seconds passed when the main doorbell rung. I stood slowly, giving Jade a moment to resettle against the arm of the couch, continuing her nap, and I took Kiyo with me, not wanting to interrupt her nap.
I answered the door to Opal’s pink face, wide black eyes lit with excitement when she saw Kiyo on my shoulder.
“Oh my gosh, she’s so cute!!” She had the sense to whisper-shout. She shuffled in and behind her, Morgan entered with their child in her car seat on her arm. Penelope and Amayrani entered last, the former carrying a large basket I’m sure full of baked goods and at least several meals. I shook my head and chuckled, this penthouse so full of nurturing, laughter, and love.
“Jade fell asleep while we were waiting, so I am just letting her rest. She’s right in the nursery.” I explained my wife’s absence.
“Oh of course! She’s probably still exhausted.” Penelope nodded, before carrying the basket through the dining room to the kitchen to put the food away.
“Do you or them need anything?” Amayrani asks, her eyes.
“I think we have everything right now.” I sat down on the couch in the sitting area. “I think we’re just trying to settle in. We got home and Kiyo didn’t like the way her ears felt with the pressure, so we had to help remedy that. She ate and her ears popped. Now she’s just sleeping.”
”Babies do a lot of that.” Morgan smiled at me, gesturing to their own daughter asleep in her carrier.
We all sat around the table, discussing everything and nothing, in quiet tones. Penelope re-entered with tea and cookies. I’d wondered what she was up to in our kitchen. We all drank the calming brew and relaxed. Several minutes later, Jade exited the nursery with a yawn.
“How long was I out?” She came to sit beside me, gently caressing Kiyomi’s sleeping form on my shoulder.
“Only about 45 minutes.” I whispered and kissed her forehead.
When Kiyomi began to stir after a few minutes, Morgan and Opal came to sit on either side of us.
“Hi there Kiyomi! I’m your auntie Opal!”
Kiyomi’s bright brown eyes looked up at her pink aunt, the first alien she had seen, and she was only three days old. Her eyes gazed at Opal for a moment before she reached out a hand to touch her, little sparks flying from her fingertips.
“You didn’t tell me she was a spellcaster too?!” Morgan’s jaw dropped, looking at Jade.
Jade stifled a laugh. “We’ve been a little busy. And right now, she’s just my little Kiyo.” She nuzzled her nose to Kiyomi’s and we relished the little squeals of delight from our daughter.
With Kiyomi’s squeals, Kore woke up. Morgan dashed to get their daughter and let the slightly older girl meet her cousin.
We held them side by side, and Kiyomi looked at her cousin, Kore’s pink coloration so similar to Opal’s, but her opaque eyes more blue than Opal’s black.
They reached out for each other, and even though Kore was a few months older, they looked the same age. Opal had said something about aliens aging differently. Their hands reached out and when they met, they held tight to each other, like they already understood the bond they shared.
The day was perfect. We were home safely, Kiyomi was loved. When they got sleepy, we laid Kiyomi and Kore in the crib together to nap. Jade and Opal discussed healing and nursing, while Penelope and Amayrani discussed making meals for us for the next few weeks. I sat with Morgan, both of us silent and observant.
“I’m glad she has you.” Morgan says, finally. ”I know you’ve been here longer, but I hope I can love Opal the way you love Jade.”
”I know you will. As long as you love her, every magical, mystical, extraordinary part of her, she’ll know.”
“I’m glad I joined this family…”
”I’m glad you did too, Morgan.”
I watch my wife and her sister, my mothers-in-law. I know that I won’t have to care for my girls alone; we will always have our family. Kiyomi will grow alongside her cousin, my wife will go through motherhood with her sister, and Morgan and I will support our partners through it all. We’ve come so far. And this is only the beginning.
I had been painting since the sun peaked over the San Myshuno skyline. Nothing too elaborate, just layering a glaze of color over the sky in my latest landscape, but I’d been sitting on the exercise ball longer than I probably should have. I rotated my hips gently, thinking the tightness was just a cramp. A false alarm. Braxton Hicks.
But then another wave came, stronger this time, wrapping around my belly and making my breath catch. My brush froze in midair, translucent paint dripping onto my drop cloth. I swallowed, waiting to see if it would pass.
It didn’t.
“Nova,” I called out, trying to keep my voice even. She was just a room away, probably up to her ears in encrypted files or backdoor data sweeps.
She stepped into the room within seconds, her tablet still in hand. “What’s up?”
“I think…” I gritted my teeth as another contraction rolled over me, stronger than before. I clutched the edge of the easel. “Call Michael. I think it’s time.”
Nova’s eyes went wide for just a beat, but she nodded sharply and fished out her phone. I could hear her calling him as I forced myself to breathe through the next one. The hospital bag was already packed. I had it ready for weeks, tucked neatly by the door.
We barely made it out of the penthouse when the black SUV screeched into the private garage. Michael jumped out, eyes wild, not even bothering to cut the engine. Nova tossed him the keys she held, and he tossed her his in return without a word.
His hands were on me instantly, one on my belly, the other wrapping around my back. “I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
We made it to the hospital quickly. Suspicion tugged at the edge of my mind between puffing breaths wondering if he had practiced this drive. That would be just like him.
We were checked into a private room and I was hooked up to monitors and IV drips for saline and medication if needed.
The labor stretched on. Long, excruciating, and unrelenting. I clung to Michael’s hand until my knuckles were white and my nails dug into his skin. He didn’t flinch. He just whispered to me, soft encouragements, sweet promises, his beard brushing my sweaty temple. The smell of his cedar and tobacco cologne grounded me when my mind started to wander from the pain.
When the door opened and I saw my mothers walk in, Penelope with tears already spilling over, Amayrani’s strength like a pillar beside her, I sobbed in relief.
I was surrounded. Held. Safe.
Michael stayed at my left and Penelope took her place at my right. I squeezed their hands with all my strength every time the contractions became too much.
“Mama. Tell me it’s gonna be ok.” I groaned as another contraction gripped me.
Her grey eyes bored into mine, her hand swept over my sweaty brow with one of her many embroidered handkerchiefs. I noticed protective runes stitched around the edges.
“You can do this Jade. I know it’s hard. We have you. We’re not going anywhere. It’s gonna be alright.”
Amayrani stood behind her, her glowing blue eyes like beacons, placing her hand on my shoulder in support.
“I’m scared.” Tears trickled down my temples and mixed with my sweat dampening the pillow beneath me.
“I know baby.” Penelope crooned.
Michael kissed my hand gripped in his. “You’re doing such a good job, Jade.”
The doctor and nurses continued to check my progress, eight centimeters, nine. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor announced I was fully dilated. After hours of laboring, with sweat on my brow and my scream echoing through the room, the sound of her first cry filled the air.
My heart split wide open.
“She’s here,” I sobbed, arms trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion as the nurse gently placed the tiny, red-faced girl against my chest. “Oh, Michael, look at her…”
His hands were shaking as he touched our daughter for the first time, brushing a thumb against her cheek. Her hair, already wild and coppery like mine, was damp and soft, and her tiny mouth searched for me, rooting instinctively.
Michael leaned in and kissed my temple, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it, baby. You did so good.”
He cradled her next, and I saw him, this man I’d once thought untouchable, impenetrable, fall apart as he held her in his arms. His thumb traced her small fingers, and when she reached up to tug at his beard, a spark flickered from her fingertips.
It danced, soft and pink, like a firefly, and faded.
Michael blinked and met my eyes, stunned. “Did you see that?”
“She’s a spellcaster,” Amayrani whispered, stepping closer, awe in her voice. “Just like her mother.”
He looked from our daughter to me, wonder etched in every line of his face.
“Hello, Kiyomi,” he murmured. “My little princess.”
We spent two days in the hospital, our little family. Michael was with me at at all times and was attentive to my every whim. He refilled my water, brewed me tea with the kettle he had one of the guards go get from the penthouse, and even had a sushi platter imported from Komorebi for me since I had been craving it for months.
We spent hours with our little Kiyomi. She was all cleaned up and wrapped in a small-but-still-too-large purple onesie we had brought for her. Her hair was shiny and red, just like mine, and her eyes were a dark blue, though the nurses reminded me that all babies eyes are blue at first. We quickly became attuned to her little noises, the little cries of discontent when she was hungry to the grunts that signalled that she would need a diaper change soon.
For the first day, feeding her was difficult. My milk took time to come in after the birth, and no matter how well Kiyomi latched on, I wasn’t producing the milk she was looking for. Her little face scrunched in frustration and she wailed at the indignation of being denied nourishment.
Shame burned in my chest. I felt like my body was betraying me in some way. The nurses brought in a bottle for Kiyomi and watching her be fed from a rubber nipple felt like a knife through my heart. I held my daughter and tears fell from my eyes watching her take in milk that I couldn’t yet provide. Michael sat in the chair next to the bed and rubbed soothing circles on my knee, whispering encouragement.
I was thankful when the nurses brought in a lactation consultant to help. They explained that this was perfectly normal with the first child, and it sometimes took time for bodies to catch up. They taught me how to use the breast pump we had bought, helped me create a pumping or feeding schedule to try to stimulate my body to get with the program, and gave me advice on ways to increase production like massaging, warm compresses or showers, and drinking lots of water and tea.
Each time Kiyomi woke up, I brought her to my chest to nurse. And each time, she latched on, pinching and sucking, looking for milk, and got nothing. We continued to call for the nurses to bring in bottles.
“Even a few drops is progress, mama. She can only take a little at a time at this age anyway! Giving it a try for a few minutes helps both of you.” The consultant tried to encourage me. But seeing the frustration in my daughter’s eyes, knowing she was hungry and I was delaying her getting the food she needed to try something that wasn’t working, made me feel sick with worry. What if I try nursing too long and she doesn’t eat soon enough? What if I’m wasting her time? My mind swirled with worry and guilt.
We began pumping every two hours on top of trying to nurse each time Kiyo woke up, and I felt relieved when a few golden drops trickled into the bottle. But I was crushed when I only got about 7ml from each breast. The nurses tried to encourage me, telling me how that yellow liquid was the best thing to nourish our little Kiyo, as they mixed it into the formula for us.
That night, I took a warm shower, my first as a mother. I sat on the hospital stool while Michael stood just outside the stream in a t-shirt and shorts to help me, while my mothers watched Kiyo in the room.
“I’m already failing her.” I muttered, the warm water pouring from the shower head over my sore and swollen body.
“Baby, no. You’re doing everything right.” He picked up a washcloth and poured a neutral soap onto it, neither of us wanting something too scented while I was still healing and while smell was such an important part of my bonding with Kiyomi.
Hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
“If I’m doing everything right, then why am I still not able to feed my own daughter.” I asked bitterly.
He massaged my back with the warm washcloth, cleansing me of sweat and kneading my tense muscles.
“You are putting so much pressure on yourself. Sometimes, things don’t go as planned. Sometimes things don’t happen on the schedule we expect.” He moved around me to help clean my chest, gently massaging my sore breasts with the warm washcloth. “You made progress today, Jade, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. You pumped for the first time, you produced colostrum for our daughter. You contributed to her nourishment today. How much did you pump?”
”About 15ml…” I muttered.
“That’s 15ml of success, baby.” He cradled my face with his other hand, forcing me to meet his eyes.
A sob stuck in my throat, my emotions haywire from the events of the last eighteen hours or so. Becoming a mother, struggling to breastfeed, and then my amazing husband helping me with my first shower. I felt exposed in more ways than one. My arms crossed over my belly, still rounded, but softer now.
“Don’t do that, baby. You don’t need to hide from me.”
”I don’t look the same.”
”I never expected you to.” He let the water rinse the soap from my body, and grabbed a towel to wrap around me. “Jade, you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now. You just gave us our daughter. You are so incredibly strong and loving and magical. No physical change could ever ever change how I see you. My beautiful wife. Kiyomi’s gorgeous mother. You are radiant.”
I tugged the towel around my body and stood up on shaky legs. He put his hands under my arms and held my damp body against him, helping to support my weight.
He kissed the top of my head, letting me lean on him. Letting me recollect my emotions and thoughts.
“I need to put a new diaper on.” I muttered into his chest before meeting his eyes.
“I’ll get you the stuff the nurses brought in for you and we can get you situated.” A soft smile played at his lips, like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here helping me put on my padded hospital undies.
We got me into my pads and mesh underwear and I put on a green nursing dress that we brought with us that tied similarly to a robe for easy access. Runes stitched into the neckline glowed when I cinched the belt, helping to reduce the ache I felt throughout my body. Back in the room, my mothers were curled together on the couch with Kiyomi, Penelope holding her and Amayrani casting little shapes in the air. Kiyo was entranced by the sparkles of magic and waved her little hands like she wanted to join in the fun.
Michael guided me to the bed, then gave me a fresh cup of water and started on a new cup of tea.
We took turns holding Kiyomi, and when she got fussy, I tried to nurse once again. After several minutes of unsuccessful attempts, I held her in my arms and watched as she greedily sucked down the formula milk mixed with colostrum I had pumped.
When the sun set, my mothers left promising to bring scones and chocoberry tea tomorrow, and it was just Michael and I and our daughter in the room. We put Kiyo into her bassinet by the bed to sleep and we tried to get some sleep too, myself in the bed and Michael on the couch.
I was awoken my Kiyomi’s little whines that tended to precede wails when she was hungry. I looked at the clock and saw that it had been almost three hours since she had last eaten. Definitely time. I turned to the side to grab Kiyo and held her while we waited for a nurse to bring a bottle. When I brought her back to my chest, I felt a sticky wetness on my exposed arms. Did she have a blowout? I lifted her to look down at my chest for signs of a dirty diaper, and saw that the wetness was coming from me!
I sat staring at the patches of dark green on my dress, stunned.
“Michael!” I whisper-shouted.
“Huh?” He woke up, looking around, and then stumbled off the couch to the bedside. “Are you ok? Is she ok?” He looked at us with wild eyes.
”I’m leaking!” I grinned up at him. Kiyomi is nuzzled my chest like she could smell the sticky milk on my clothes.
I opened my dress to expose my breast, and she wrapped her little pink mouth around my nipple. I felt a tug and pinch as she began feeding. It certainly wasn’t a comfortable sensation. But the pride I felt for myself and being able to feed my daughter after being so distraught felt like a miracle and outweighed the ache.
“I knew you could do it.” Michael kissed my temple and placed a hand under Kiyo, our whole little family connected in this moment.
“Thank you for believing in me.” I leaned into him, his beard scratching my skin in a familiar way.
”I’ll always believe in you, Jade.” He whispered, tucking us into his arms like he never planned to let go. “I hope I never make you doubt that.”
It’s just high school. People go to it all the time. Pretty much everyone does.
So why am I so nervous?
My palms are clammy as I face the front doors of Copperdale High. I look down at my palms and see the patches of pale standin’ out against my sun-tanned skin. My vitiligo always looks worse when I’m nervous. And right now, I’m nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. It took an hour to get here, my train stop bein’ the southernmost stop on the line. I thought I would be ready, but after years of being homeschooled by Granny Lo, now I’m not so sure. How are there so many kids my age?
A tall boy with dark skin and braids passes me. He wears the school colors, and I see him meet up with a girl in what looks like a female version of the same uniform, the maroon and navy pants replaced by a fitted short skirt.
Cheerleaders. Like I’ve seen in movies.
I adjust my backpack and make my way through the doors. Inside the main foyer, I’m greeted by a school crest inlaid into the floor. The tiles create points of color that come together to form an open book and and a banner. And then behind the crest is a statue of a woman made of smooth stone. She stands tall in drapin’ robes, a spear in one hand, and a helmet shieldin’ most of her hair from view. I reach out to touch her, almost expectin’ warmth from how realistic she looks, but I’m met with the cold bite of marble.
“Please don‘t touch Athena.”
I jump back and turn to see a severe-looking woman dressed in a dark brown suit jacket and slacks. Her black hair is pulled into a tight bun, and she wears an air of authority like it’s her favorite accessory.
“I… I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to.”
She eyes me with a look I would think is reserved for a bug. An ugly one.
“You must be Jane, is that correct?”
“Um, actually, ma’am, it’s Jayneleigh. All one word.”
“How…unique.” She notes something on the tablet in her hand. “I am Principal Mei Prescott. I trust you know your schedule?”
Shame burns my cheeks, “Nah, ma’am, I never got no schedule.”
Her lips press together in displeasure. “It’s a good thing English is first on your course list. It’s ‘I never got a schedule’, dear.” She made ‘dear’ sound like an insult. “Just around the corner to your right. Your teacher should be able to print it out for you. Exams are on Fridays,” she continues, “and every other Thursday is career day. Make it to class on time, do your homework, and you should excel here.”
I nod, not wantin’ to mess up again in front of this woman.
“And, once again, please refrain from touching the statues. They’re quite old.” Principal Prescott turns on her heel and strides down the hallway, her head as high as her standards.
I release a breath.
Great. This is already going great.
The bell for class rings, and I rush to the classroom Principal Prescott directed me to. I see the adult at the desk in front of the class, a tall man with dark skin and shoulder-length curly hair.
“Hello, sir. I’m Jayneleigh Ann.”
He looks up and gives me a gentle smile, then extends his hand.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Jayneleigh. I’m Mr. Wilkins.”
“Thank you, sir. Um… I just saw Principal Prescott in the hall just now. And she said that since I ain’t got no schedule, you might be so kind to print one out for me? So I’ll be knowin’ where to go and what to do every day?”
I cringe at the words exiting my mouth. I know they’re all wrong. But I don’t know how to make ‘em better. Not yet. Not now, when I'm wringin’ my hands in front of me like I’m tryin’ to wring out a wet dish rag in the wash basin..
I see how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper, not knowin’ how else to explain myself.
“Nothing to worry about, Jayneleigh. I’ll go print that schedule for you. You go ahead and pick a seat, and I’ll bring it back for you. No worries!”
He got up from his desk, and I turned around to face the sea of student desks, all facing me. I find one about halfway up the class, not so far in front to be right in front of everyone, not all the way in the back to be a “bad kid” who sits in the back and doesn’t pay the lessons no mind like I seen on the movies. Right in the middle, so I can blend in.
I settle into my desk, tuckin’ my backpack under my seat and puttin’ my notebook and pens on top so I’m ready to take notes on everything. It’s obvious I got a lot to learn already. Maybe if I just buckle down and take my notes, it’ll all be okay. Maybe I can learn how to talk like them and not sound so dag-darn dumb.
“Ugh, it smells like horse shit in here!” A girl behind me complains, and a few kids around the class who had already chosen their seats snicker.
I look around, ‘cause I ain’t even got a horse. Even though I’d love to have one.
“Oh my god, look at her look around like it could be anyone else but her.” The girl whispers, and I turn around to see that cheerleader from the hall with the long brown hair covering her mouth as she laughs at me and whispers to the boy with the braids beside her.
I look down at my boots. They were worn, but I tried to take real good care of ‘em. And I ain’t ever worn them to muck stalls or somesuch. I always wore my wellies for that messy work. I tried to ignore her.
When the teacher returned, he handed me my schedule and clapped for everyone to take their seats so he could begin class.
“And everyone, we have a new student. Jayneleigh Lo.” He gestured to me, and suddenly I really wished I had sat in the back. “Jayneleigh, would you like to introduce yourself?”
I stood up, my hands shaking in front of me.
“Umm. Sure. Hi, I’m Jayneleigh. Jayneleigh Ann.”
“Oh my god, she has three first names!” I heard someone whisper.
I continued, fire creeping up my cheeks, I’m sure makin’ my pigmentation around my mouth even more noticeable, “I live in Chestnut Ridge with my granny and help run her daycare. I love horses, even though we ain’t got one. It’s real nice to meet all o’y’all.”
“She even sounds like a hick.” Someone else whispers behind me.
“Why does her skin look like that?”
“What’s with those crusty old boots?”
I sit down, more embarrassed than I have ever felt in my life.
From my boots to my talkin’ to my vitiligo, ain’t one thing I done today been right.
I passed the rest of the class tryin’ to pay attention to Mr. Wilkins, jottin’ down notes in my fresh new notebook.
The bell rings at the end of the hour, and all the students around me pack up their bags. The students rush out the door for lunch, and I’m left sittin’ at my desk. My pen hovers over my notebook, and my lip trembles. Finally, they’re all gone. Even just for a moment.
“Everything alright, Jayneleigh?” Mr. Wilkins approached my desk.
“Yes sir.” I croak out, focusin’ on just not cryin’.
“First days can be hard.” He hands me a tissue from his desk. I take it and dab my eyes.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard. Or that the other kids would be so darn mean…” I admit
He exhales heavily and presses his lips together. “Sometimes people have a hard time accepting someone new with kindness. Kindness itself is a skill that takes time to develop. I’m sorry that the students you’ve met so far haven’t completely learned that skill yet.”
I ponder his words. I’ve been taught my whole life to treat others like I wanted to be treated. That that’s what The Watcher would want. It never occurred to me that this was a skill I was practicin’.
“I wish I could teach ‘em to be kind.”
Mr. Wilkins smiles at me. “It would be very mature of you to lead by example. Just let me know if it gets any worse, I can always look into other options for you. Just know, it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong to deserve this. They are in the wrong and are the ones who need to learn to do better.”
A tear falls onto my notes, blurring the ink of a word.
I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words.
An orphan from Strangerville, I was taken in by Granny Lo as a baby. All my life, I’d been tryin’ to make it up to her. To prove that takin’ me in was appreciated. Tryin’ to prove my worth.
Hearing’ that this wasn’t my fault struck something in my chest, making’ my tears flow harder.
“It’s okay, Jayneleigh. I know it’s hard.”
”It’s real hard. Everythin’ is. I just thought somehow this would make it better.”
”It will with time.” He hands me another tissue. ”And if you want, we do have counselors on staff to help make things easier. If you go down the hall just past the cafeteria and computer lab, you’ll see their office. You can go to them whenever you want. I’ll even let you go during class if you need to.”
”Thank you, Mr. Wilkins. I’ll for sure take a look.”
”Go on to lunch. I’ll see you in second period for social studies.”
I pack up my notebook and wipe my eyes once more.
“Yes, sir. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I leave the classroom, still rabbit-timid, checkin’ over my shoulders for those cheerleaders and instead of goin’ to the cafeteria, I turn right for the restrooms.
I enter and check my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red, and my face is splotchy. I take some deep breaths and remember what Mr. Wilkins said.
Kindness is a skill that takes time to develop.
I may not talk right. I might not be too good with makin’ friends with kids my age. But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s bein’ kind. Whether it’s a skittish foul or an injured fox, I could be kind. Maybe these kids got somethin’ they’re skittish about too. I can at least give it my best shot.
I pat a damp paper towel on my face to reduce the flush on my cheeks, and take my bagged lunch out to the courtyard. I sit on the edge of the fountain in the center of the space, the stone warmed by the sun, and eat my sandwich slowly, lettin’ the sweet taste of Granny’s homemade strawberry jam chase away the bitterness from the morning.
By the time the bell rings, I’m feelin’ a bunch better. I toss my backpack over my shoulder and get on to class. The second class goes better. The cheerleaders aren’t here, and the other students pretty much ignore me, which is an improvement.
By the end of class, my hand is crampin’ from takin’ notes, and I am plum worn out. I say goodbye to Mr. Wilkins and take the short walk to the train station nearest the school. I still got a whole hour ride back to Chestnut Ridge, but maybe I can at least get a head start on this homework.
“Hey!” I hear behind me, just before feelin’ a hand on my shoulder.
“Uh, hi there.” I turn around and see a boy. With blue skin and spiked brown hair.
“Hi! You’re the new girl, right?”
”Yes, sir, I am. My name’s Jayneleigh. Jayneleigh Ann Lo.”
”I’m Patrick. And that’s my sister, Moira.” I catch a bit of a southern accent from him. “Where’re you takin’ the train to?”
”Chestnut Ridge. I live with my granny out that way.”
”Wanna sit with us? We’re going there too! It’s a long ride.”
A smile, probably my first real smile today, spreads across my face.
”That would be wonderful! I was plannin’ to get started on my homework if ya’ll wanna get a booth with a table?”
Moira approaches me, her skin a more natural deep tone and curly brown hair pinned in a half up half down look. She shakes my hand. “Hi there, girl! I heard we got another country girl at school. Sucks we ain’t got more classes together though!”
Her accent is thicker than her brother’s. Like she’s proud of it. I look at her smiling face and feel at ease.
“I had no idea y’all were from Chestnut too!”
”Well now you know!” Patrick responds, the train pulling into the station.
We show our student IDs and board the train, finding a table to settle in at,
“So, how come I ain’t ever seen you around before, Jayneleigh Ann?” Moira asks as we take out our homework. I notice her books are for higher level classes like rocket science and psychology. On top of her quick humor and accent, she must be super smart too.
“I’ve been homeschooled by my Granny up ‘til now.”
”You live with your granny? Are your parents out of the picture or something?” Patrick inquires. Moira elbows her brother.
”Nah. My mama passed when I was a baby. Ain’t never knew my daddy. When mama passed, Granny Lo took me in and we moved to Chestnut pretty soon after. I don’t really remember anythin’ before that.”
”Oh goodness me, Jayneleigh Ann, I’m so sorry.” Moira reached across the table to take my hand, like our shared accent made us best friends already.
“It’s alright, really. I was too young to remember anythin’.”
We got to work on our homework, chatterin’ here and there about our lives at home. Patrick and Moira were born to older parents, Emma and Adan. They have a horse, Mojave, a stubborn older horse that really only likes Moira. She promises to introduce me one day after school.
By the time we pull into the Chestnut Ridge station, the sun is setting, our homework is done, and I feel lighter than I’ve felt all day. We exchange numbers so we can ride together in the morning and I say goodbye to Patrick and Moira as we get off the train and they begin their walk towards their house just outside the main square.
Granny Lo is waitin’ for me at the station, her dual braids over her shoulders.
“Hey there, babygirl.” She wraps me in a hug. “How was your first day at a real school?”
We started walking home on the dusty main road.
I reflect on the day I had. From meeting Principal Prescott to the cheerleader’s bullying. And then Mr. Wilkin’s advice and the ride home with Moira and Patrick.
“It was good. Different. But, good.”
“I’m glad, sweety. Do you have any homework to finish before dinner? I have your favorite, three sisters chili, waiting on the stove.”
“We finished it on the train, actually.” The sun is disappearing behind the distant mountains as we approach our home. The cats, Lilly and Pumpkin run up to me and rub against my legs, and Ricky, the raccoon granny mistook for a kitten when he was just a kit, crawled up my back to sit on my shoulder and rub against my face.
Here, home with my granny, surrounded by our pets and waking into our little kitchen to the smell of my favorite meal. It was a good day. And I plan to do everything I can to make every day a good day, no matter what other people choose to do.
The sterile scent of antiseptic hit me the moment we stepped into the hospital, but it couldn’t drown out the pounding of my heart. Jade’s hand was small in mine, her thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles as we followed the nurse down the hallway. She was calm, glowing even, but I couldn’t stop the storm that brewed beneath my ribs. This was real. We were having a baby.
We sat side by side in the softly lit exam room. Jade lifted her shirt to expose her still mostly flat belly, and the nurse tucked tissue paper into her waistband before squeezing clear jelly onto her skin. Jade’s hand tensed in mine, and she gave me a sheepish smile.
“Cold.” She muttered, and laughed slightly.
The monitor buzzed faintly showing a staticky image while the nurse adjusted the want over Jade’s stomach. The nurse directed our attention to a rounded shape, and the silhouette of our child was revealed on screen. I stopped breathing altogether.
“There’s the heartbeat,” the nurse murmured.
That rapid fluttering sound, it broke me in half and stitched me back together in the same breath. I felt Jade squeeze my fingers, and when I looked at her, she had tears slipping down her cheeks. Joyful, silent tears that made her amber eyes glow like gems.
“Here’s the face, a little nose. Oop, and you can see they have a hand in their mouth right there.” Now tears were flowing down my face, seeing our baby for the first time, their little hand dark against their face like they were trying to block out the invasion of the ultrasound. I kissed Jade’s knuckles, neither of us wanting to break eye contact with that screen.
”And there’s something else,” the nurse smiled. “Do you want to know the baby’s sex?”
Jade nodded for the both of us.
”It’s a girl.”
A girl.
I, Michael Feng, was going to be the father of a daughter.
I hadn’t known I could want something so badly until I heard those words. A girl. My little girl. My princess.
We didn’t speak much on the drive home. Jade was curled in the passenger seat, fingers tracing the subtle curve of her belly under her sweater. I couldn’t stop glancing over at her, even though I knew the most important thing I could do was get them home safely. So I pried my eyes away from my world and kept vigilant watch on the road ahead. Our life, our world, was changing. I was changing.
That night, Jade set a pair of headphones over her stomach and played classical music. She lay across our bed in a robe, sketchbook open beside her, humming softly. I stood in the doorway just watching her, not wanting to disturb the peace she had created.
She looked up with a sleepy smile. “She seems to be moving a little. I think she likes the piano.”
I crossed the room and lay down beside her, my hand resting lightly on her stomach. “Have you thought about names?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “I was thinking something simple but meaningful. What about Kiyomi? It means clear, clean, and beautiful in Japanese.”
“Kiyomi…” I whispered it like a prayer. “That’s perfect.”
Jade leaned in and kissed me. “She’s going to be strong and sweet and clever. Just like you.”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I stared at her. This woman, this powerful, kind, brilliant woman, was giving me everything I never knew I needed. A real home. A future. A daughter.
I would burn the world before I let anything happen to either of them.
A few weeks later, the baby shower was held at San Myshuno Central Park. Jade deserved the best, and celebrating our joy under the blue sky of our city with our closest family and friends was perfect. The park had been decorated in soft pinks and whites, the skyline of San Myshuno glittering in the background. Nova had coordinated with an event planner who had set everything up flawlessly. My guards were discreet, manning the perimeter in suits. Jade deserved a perfect day, untouched by shadows. No threats were getting through. Nobody was hurting my family. Not at the height of our joy.
Penelope and Amayrani were ecstatic, especially when we cut into the gender reveal cake and lifted the pink strawberry sponge for everyone to see. We had known for weeks, but the sheer joy that enveloped our closest circle caused tears to stream down Jade’s face while she smiled so wide that I was sure her cheeks hurt. I caught her around the waist and kissed her temple, holding her close as our family applauded and cheered.
Opal brought the gift of a vibrating alien baby rattle that no one could figure out how to turn off. Morgan handed Jade a massive diaper cake with hand-labeled pouches full of coupons and parenting advise and words of encouragement from our family members. Even Henry VI, a powerful man in his own right, rising quickly through the political ranks, showed up. Stoic, suit-pressed, holding a gift bag with baby socks and a bottle of whiskey for me.
It was chaos. It was joy.
It was what family should have been all along. The family I’d never had. The chaos, the laughter, the magic. It felt like everything I’d spent years pretending I didn’t need.
Later, as the sun dipped behind the skyline when we returned home and Jade rested on the couch, surrounded by flower arrangements and pastel tissue paper, I knelt in front of her and laid my hand on her growing belly.
“I promise you, Kiyomi,” I whispered, “you will never know the coldness I did. You will never fear me the way I feared him. You will be loved, wildly and completely. Your mother and I, your radiant, fierce, impossible mother, will never make you face this world alone.”
Jade reached out and ran her fingers through my hair.
“And you,” she said gently, “will be the best father this little girl could ever dream of.”
I closed my eyes. And for probably the first time in my life, I believed it. That I could be enough.
Part 15: A Night of Promise
Part 17: The First Spark
From a young age, Hermione showed promise. The younger sister of Jaqueline, Hermione was often considered the quieter of the two. But what she lacked in outward boldness, she made up for in sharp intellect and quiet determination. While Jaqueline pursued the lime-light and musical success, Hermione carved her own path in the digital world. She excelled in school, particularly in math and science, but her true passions lay in the glowing screen of her computer. Whether it was building custom mods for her favorite video games, decoding lines of alien-sounding code, or building tiny robots in the garage, Hermione was a tech prodigy.
But Hermione’s story took a remarkable turn the day her father, Andrew, returned from a top-secret interstellar mission.
He wasn’t alone.
With him came a nervous, green-skinned alien named Tyler Phan, who had been stranded after a lab accident on Sixam. Andrew, ever the compassionate adventurer, couldn’t bear to leave the young extraterrestrial behind and brought him to their family home in Willow Creek. Tyler was quiet, deeply observant, and curious about Sim culture—but above all, he was lonely. And Hermione noticed.
What began as polite conversations turned into long evenings teaching Tyler about the Sim world. She showed him everything: how to eat pancakes with a fork, how to ride a bike, how to use Simlish slang (which he picked up adorably wrong at first), and how to play video games, where, despite his calm demeanor, he turned out to be fiercely competitive. Hermione found herself laughing more than she had in years. And Tyler? He had never felt so accepted.
They were both outsiders in their own way. Hermione had always lived in her older sister’s shadow, and Tyler had literally fallen from the sky. But together, they made sense. He admired her brilliance. She adored his gentle heart.
After several years of dating and learning about one another’s worlds, the two married in a stunning ceremony at Notre Sim Cathedral. Hermione wore a simple, elegant dress laced with starlight embroidery, an homage to Tyler’s home planet. Tyler, who had embraced formal Sim attire, wore a tailored white tux with tiger-eye gem cufflinks, the color of Hermione’s eyes. The reception was held under an open sky, where Tyler’s relatives from Sixam attended invisibly, leaving traces of stardust in their wake.
They moved into a modern desert home in Oasis Springs, a place Tyler loved for its closeness to the stars, and began building their lives together. Rather than rushing into pregnancy, they chose to adopt a child first. That child was Ulysses, a bright, inquisitive boy who shared Hermione’s thirst for knowledge. He was a straight-A student but battled with kleptomania, often bringing home trinkets and small gadgets he couldn’t explain taking. Hermione, drawing on her gentle patience, supported him through therapy and helped him channel his impulsivity into creative problem-solving. Tyler, too, provided an anchor, spending hours in the garden with Ulysses and teaching him how to repair and build small machines.
Years passed, and their home grew more vibrant with love and laughter. One spring morning, Hermione and Tyler received unexpected news. They were expecting not one child, but two. Fraternal twins, born under a full moon.
Jade and Rosa were half-human, half-Sixamian, and entirely their own. Jade inherited her father’s vegetarianism and calm demeanor. She preferred the quiet, often curling up on the back porch to read books or challenging Ulysses to thoughtful chess matches that lasted hours. She had her father’s luminous teal eyes and her mother’s quiet curiosity.
Rosa, in contrast, was fire and sound. She had a mischievous streak, constantly teasing her siblings, playing rebellious guitar riffs in her room, and sneaking off to late-night gigs even before she was old enough. Her rebelliousness didn’t come from defiance, Hermione always believed, but from a need to be seen. Rosa had inherited Tyler’s sharp intelligence, but filtered it through attitude and passion.
Though parenting three wildly different children was a challenge, Hermione handled it with grace. She continued her work as a freelance programmer, eventually creating an app that helped neurodiverse youth (like Ulysses) track habits and develop positive routines. The app gained modest acclaim, but Hermione never cared much for recognition. Her pride was in her family.
Tyler, meanwhile, had risen to prominence in the scientific community. He worked at the Oasis Springs Science Center, making breakthroughs in hybrid plant genomes and low-gravity simulations. Despite his growing reputation, he always made time to be home for dinner, where the family would gather around the outdoor table, surrounded by Tyler’s experimental glowing plants and Jade’s handmade wind chimes.
When all three children eventually left home, Ulysses to begin his medical school residency, Rosa to pursue music in the city, and Jade to enroll in medical school to follow in her big brother’s footsteps, Hermione and Tyler felt the house grow quiet. But not empty.
They held one last special dinner in their backyard under a string of solar-powered lights and the stars Tyler still looked up at with wonder. Their children returned, older now, but still full of the chaotic love that had made their house a home.
As night fell, they raised their glasses, a toast echoing through their Oasis Springs garden.
“To love across galaxies,” Hermione said, her voice steady, her eyes sparkling.
And Tyler, smiling at her like he had on the first day he learned to play video games, whispered back, “And to the girl who taught me how to live in this world.”
The morning light filtered in through the penthouse windows, casting pale gold streaks across the hardwood floors. I reached over instinctively, expecting to find Michael still beside me, but the bed was already cold. He’d left before I woke, again.
I wasn’t all that surprised. Work had been demanding in the months since we had returned from our honeymoon. The soft click of the front door hours earlier must’ve been him slipping out into the city that never really stopped needing him. Business deals still needed his approval, meetings required his attendance. Some days he came home in time for dinner, and some I went to bed alone and was roused slightly by his kiss on my head when he got home. We tried to make the most of the stolen moments we got together.
I pulled on a plush robe and padded barefoot to the studio, the wood cool and smooth against my feet. The air was calm and quiet, a sacred kind of stillness I’d become so used to. Peace suspended above the chaos of the city. I opened the windows to let in a breeze and set out my paints, a canvas already half-finished waiting for me on the easel. This one was a commision for a bar in Oasis Springs, an abstract piece that evoked movement and life. But the moment I dipped the brush into the bright yellow ochre and raised it to the canvas, the sharp scent of the paint turned my stomach.
No. Not just turned it; churned it.
I dropped the brush to the ground, thankful for the dropcloth I had insisted on laying down and stumbled to the hall bathroom. I barely made it to the edge of the toilet before I heaved up the nothing in my stomach.
I turned to the sink to rinse the sourness from my mouth, hands braced on the porcelain, and I stared at myself in the mirror. My lips were pale, my cheeks flushed. The bitter taste of fear and surprise lingered at the back of my throat.
I counted in my head.
And again.
And again.
Could it be?
I grabbed my phone and opened my contacts. My fingers trembled as I scrolled to “Nova Curious.” She was a newer recruit on our personal security team that Michael had reinforced following our engagement. She was only a few years older than me, but Michael said she was a master hacker. But those weren’t the skills I needed from her today. Right now, I needed another woman in my corner.
Me: Hey… can I ask you for a favor? Discreet, please. I need you to grab something for me.
She replied almost instantly.
Nova: You got it. What do you need?
Me: Pregnancy test. Don’t tell Michael. I just want to be sure first.
Nova: On it. I’ll buzz the door in ten.
I moved down the stairs to the kitchen and brewed ginger tea while I waited, hoping to soothe the nausea curling like fog through my belly. When Nova handed off the small pharmacy bag at the front door, she gave me a single look, but said nothing. Professional and compassionate. That’s why I trusted her.
Minutes later, I sat on the bathroom floor, marble tile pressed against my skin, heart pounding in my chest, test in hand. The world blurred at the edges as I watched the second line appear.
I was pregnant.
A quiet sob broke loose from my throat, but it wasn’t fear or sadness. It was wonder. Shock. Love. Terrifying, soul-altering love.
Michael Feng
I came through the penthouse door just after ten, the city lights glittering outside the windows and casting reflections across the shining wood floor. My jacket was heavy with the weight of a day I couldn’t share with her, not yet. Not ever.
She was waiting in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket, her knees pulled to her chest. Her face lit up when she saw me, but I could feel the nervous energy pulsing off her like heat.
I froze.
“Jade,” I said, crossing the room. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”
She stood slowly and stepped toward me, pulling something from the pocket of her pajamas. It was small. White. Somehow both familiar and foreign.
I stared at the object in her hands for a long moment, two pink lines showing through the window on the front, not quite believing it until I met her amber eyes, red rimmed and brimming with tears.
Her voice was soft, but reverent. “I’m pregnant.”
Everything dropped away. I felt like my stomach had just dropped to the first floor of the building, leaving me breathless.
I sat down hard on the edge of the couch. My vision tunneled. My heart pounded in my throat. Nothing ever scared me. Not knives. Not bullets. Not blood or betrayal.
But this?
This terrified me.
This is what I wanted. What we wanted. But that didn’t change the fear. Not of what was coming. A child, our child; I was overjoyed. But becoming a father when the only father I had known had been a monster. That terrified me.
What if I wasn’t good enough?
What if I become like him?
What if I caused my child the pain that I had felt for all those years?
My breathing was ragged, bordering on hyperventilation, and my blood roared in my ears.
I looked at her again. My wife. My brilliant, fiery, magical wife. And our child. Growing inside her. She held my hand and stroked small circles on my wrist. The rhythm of her fingers on my pulse created a hypnotic trance, and I met her eyes again, overflowing with concern and love.
I pulled her into my arms and held her as tightly as I dared, my pulse slowing, my heart calming.
“I won’t be him,” I whispered into her hair. “I swear to you, Jade. I will not be like my father. This child will be loved. Protected. Safe.”
She nodded, her fingers tightening in my shirt.
“I know.” She responded, words muffled in the crook of my neck.
She knew. She believed in me. And I could too. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and rested my other hand on her stomach. She placed her hand over mine, and warmth bloomed in my chest, chasing away the last shards of fear.
Just like that, my world shifted again.
Part 14: Honeymooners
Part 16: Static and Strawberry Cake
The rain had finally stopped by the time we reached the cottage. The kind of rain that blesses a wedding and leaves the world smelling clean, sweet, and ready for something new. The rented cottage sat high above the sea, two stories of sun-washed stucco and blue shutters, surrounded by flowering vines and a cobblestone path leading to the cliffs. It was exactly what my Jade deserved: beauty, peace, privacy. A world of our own.
Inside, everything was soft light and candle glow. The curtains were drawn wide open, letting in the sea breeze and the salty smell of the sea, and the moonlight cast shifting shadows across the wooden floors. Upstairs, the bedroom was simple but elegant; white linen sheets lay on a bed facing the balcony, where the open doors framed the sea, the horizon stretching into oblivion.
She stood there, her silhouette outlined by moonlight, the hem of her wedding dress skimming the floor. Barefoot. Hair tousled from the day’s celebration. My wife.
I crossed the room without a word and slipped my arms around her from behind, pressing my lips to the bare skin of her shoulder. She leaned back into me with a sigh, her fingers finding mine. There was nothing left to say. Not when her body spoke the language I knew best: trust, passion, want.
I unfastened the buttons on the halter neck of her dress, and the silk ivory gown slid off her body like water, revealing every delicious curve. I slid my hands back around her body and cupped her breast, feeling her nipples leak under my hands. Her breath caught as I gently teased her sensitive peaks, kissing down her neck to her shoulder. Her hand reached behind her and palmed me through my slacks. I groan against her neck, the feeling of her smooth skin against my lips, her hand on my cock, and the intoxicating smell of her perfume, sweet and spiced with notes of black tea and fig. My control hung on by a thread. And that thread was coming undone.
I reluctantly released Jade, and my jacket hit the floor. She turned around, and my breath caught in my throat. I had seen her body like this probably hundreds of times now, but the way the moon shone off her tanned skin, her breasts full and rounded, and her amber eyes locked onto me hungrily. I never wanted to forget the way she looked tonight. Our first night as husband and wife.
I couldn’t keep my hands off her. One hand found her waist while the other cradled her face.
“You’re perfect.” I breathed against her mouth before my lips met hers. Her tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I was more than happy to comply.
Her hands fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, and I grinned against her lips. I couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness to get me out of my clothes.
She finally got my shirt undone and quickly moved to my slacks. Those, she had no issue with. She released me from my slacks and boxerbriefs, and I felt her moan when her hand surrounded my length.
And there went any control I had left.
I took my bride into my arms, a small squeal of surprise exiting her kiss-swollen lips.
“I wouldn’t be much of a husband if I didn’t at least carry you across the threshold first.” I teased.
“You’re my husband regardless.”
“Let me be a gentleman, just this once.”
“I like you better when you’re not.” She gave me a wicked smile as I carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.
This woman. She matched my humor and my darkness. I’d spent most of my life building walls that she somehow tore through like a force of nature. I carried her through the threshold of the bedroom and laid her on the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes heated and bright in the moonlight, watching me with a challenge in her smile.
“You asked for it.” I grinned down at my wife and situated myself between her thighs.
The way she gasped when my tongue laved over her most sensitive spot was music. Her whimpers and moans, saying my name like a prayer while I teased and licked her center, was a song. And the sound of her coming undone, her thighs clenching against my ears, her cunt throbbing against my greedy lips. That was a symphony.
A gentleman would have given her a break. A gentleman would have let her catch her breath.
But she asked for this.
Jade Feng
I laid in the bed of our rental, trembling and sweaty as Michael placed kisses and small bites on my inner thigh. It had to have been at least thirty minutes, and he had already made me come four times. Tears ran down my temples, dampening my unpinned hair that must be tangled against the pillow beneath me from when I squeezed them shut. My breath came out in pants.
Michael crawled above me, his face level with mine, his arms braced beside my head. I cradled his face in my hands and kissed his lips, savoring the salty taste of myself on his tongue. The erotic moment caused my core to heat once more.
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.” He wiped a tear from my face with his thumb, the gentleness of the touch contrasting with the calluses on his hand.
I felt his length slide against my slick entrance, hard and warm, and I met his lips as he thrusted slowly into me. Each stroke inside me left me breathless, the delicious friction causing a cascade of pleasure to travel up my spine. My back arched to meet his body as he increased his pace. His tattooed arm, corded with muscle, braced my body from behind, while his other arm supported him above me. I dug my nails into his shoulders as he pounded into me, his rhythm becoming erratic.
My body trembled on the edge, but I needed him to know.
“Michael?” I gasped, knowing he was as close as I was.
“Yeah, baby?” He gritted out through a clenched jaw.
“You know … how we talked about … wanting kids soon..”
“Yes.” His voice was strained now, trying to answer me while chasing his release.
“I got my IUD removed.” I groan, my walls clenching around him as I come apart again, pleasure exploding through my body.
“Fuck baby” and he was already gone, buried deep inside me, losing himself in his own orgasm.
He stayed inside me, both of us catching our breath with his forehead pressed to mine.
“So was that a good “fuck, baby?” or…” I asked, stroking my hand up and down his bicep.
He repositioned so that he was lying beside me and pulled me into his arms.
“That was a ‘Fuck, I can’t wait to put a baby in you.’”He matched my grin, pressing kisses to my cheeks, my forehead, and my lips. His hand cradled my face, stroking his thumb over my lips, and his other hand moved to my stomach, stroking the soft skin of my lower belly.
“There is nothing in this world I want more than a family with you, Jade. As soon as we can, as long as that’s ok with you.”
“I’m the one who made the removal appointment, Michael. I want this.” I placed my hand over his on my stomach.
“You’re going to make an amazing mother.” Tears caught on his lashes glistened in the fading moonlight.
“And you’re going to make a wonderful dad.” I grinned and closed the distance between us with another kiss. After the upbringing he had, I saw how his doubts clouded his joy. I wanted to make every one of those doubts and fears disappear.
I fell asleep wrapped in his arms, ready for whatever chapter The Watcher had chosen for us next.
Michael Feng
The days that followed blurred into sunlight and laughter. We swam in the ocean, made breakfast together in nothing but underwear and wet hair, wandered the narrow streets of Tartosa hand in hand like teenagers with no past to haunt them.
When Jade saw a painting made by a local artist that entranced her, I bought it without hesitation. It showed the colorful seaside neighborhood where we had just had coffee, the sun rising over the sea. I wanted her to remember this. This feeling of the sun on our skin, the flavor of coffee on our tongues, and the love I have for her, every time she saw this painting, that, for once, she didn’t have to slave away over.
She teased me at the beach bars, stealing sips of my drink and dancing with strangers just long enough to make me jealous. I always pulled her back to me, her mischievous smile a constant balm to my jealousy. She never protested and always reminded me how mine she was when we returned to our rental.
Nights were endless. Sometimes we stayed in, bodies tangled and sweaty on the couch or beneath the stars on the patio. I felt like we were glued together; if I showered, she joined me. If she made coffee, she made enough for both of us. Sometimes we went out, clinking glasses in candlelit bistros, pretending we weren’t two people with secrets heavier than most would dare carry.
Just newlyweds, making the most of this time together, away from our responsibilities.
A week passed too fast.
By the time we packed our bags to return to San Myshuno, I wasn’t ready to let go of the spell Tartosa had woven around us.
But I didn’t need to.
Because Jade was coming home with me.
As my wife.
Part 13: The Rain Gives Its Blessing
Part 15: A Night of Promise
Rain tapped against the stained-glass windows of the chapel, soft and rhythmic, like a heartbeat keeping time with my own. The air smelled like gardenia and sea salt, mingled with the sweet scent of rose petals that littered the venue. Roses in the arrangements, roses in my bouquet. Rose petals lining the aisle. Some might’ve fretted over rain on their wedding day. I knew better; it was good luck. My mother said so, and who would know the whims of the weather but her?
Still, as I adjusted the silky fabric of my dress and looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest wasn’t just excitement. My lip still ached faintly where Victor Feng’s goons had struck me. The healing potions Amayrani brewed worked wonders, but magic couldn’t erase the memory. The fear.
But I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not really. Not with Michael standing between me and the rest of the world.
The door creaked open and Penelope peeked in, teary-eyed already. “You look like a dream, sweetheart.”
I gave her a shaky smile through the mirror, then turned as Amayrani entered behind her, resplendent in deep navy robes embroidered with protective runes. My mother’s way of guarding me, visible to the rest of the world or not.
“Ready?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. “More than ready.”
The ceremony took place in the garden of our venue in Tartosa, an old vineyard converted to an event venue. A canopy was brought in to shield us from the drizzle and Michael had it decorated with exotic flowers flown in from Salvadorada, a nod to the jungle where he had proposed to me. Where I had said yes under the Salvadoradian sun, tying my life to his forever.
My mothers escorted me towards the gardens. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs was the perfect accompaniment to the string quartet. When I peaked out the window, guests huddled under umbrellas, laughing softly, brushing rain off their shoulders. The joy in the air was tangible.
I met Michael’s gaze through the window and the breath caught in my throat. He looked devastating in a dark three-piece suit, tailored within an inch of its life, a sprig of berries and a flower pinned to his lapel. A grin split the hard planes of his face. His eyes didn’t leave mine for a second. There was no room for nerves or ghosts between us. Only love.
The quartet tapered their melody upon seeing Amayrani’s signal, and began playing the song we had selected for me to walk down the aisle to. Only Michael and I knew the significance of this song. It had been one of the first we danced to together in that sticky Britechester bar. My head had rested on his shoulder, and he had been hesitant to put his arms around my waist. But look at us now.
My mothers took my hands, Penelope to my left, and Amayrani to my right. My mundane and mystical mothers, doting and protective and fierce in their love for me. Our heels clicked against the stone as we walked in time to the quartet, the silky column of my ivory dress brushing my legs. The halter neckline framed my shoulders, and the open back felt like a secret between Michael and I. The fabric clung like a second skin before flaring into a mermaid silhouette that swept behind me like a tide.
I took in my surroundings with care. If I have it my way, this is the one and only time I do this. And I want to remember every second.
The crunch of rose petals under my heals. My sister waiting with a bouquet at the end of the aisle, my maid of honor with her rounded baby bump. My little niece or nephew already making their presence known. Her tanned skin flashes pink and I catch a smirk knowing she’s teasing me with her alien form again. The canopy casting shadows on the altar that are chased away by lanterns set up by Michael and motes conjured by my mother. The sizzle of magic in the air calmed by the mist of the Tartosa rain.
And Michael. My strong, loving, amazing Michael. The tall dark alumnus who had once not-so-subtly watched me paint by the canal. The leader to the largest organized crime syndicate in our region. The man who had shot his own father and exiled his parents for me. My best friend. My lover. My husband. His eyes, that shifting mix of green and brown that reminded me of nature and growth and potential, shimmered with unshed tears. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he watched my mothers bring me to a stop at the foot of the altar.
Amayrani spoke first.
“Michael, before our joined families and friends, Penelope and I entrust you with the privilege of marrying our daughter. The privilege to love her. The responsibility to keep her safe. Do you accept this responsibility?”
“Yes.” Michael responded in a strong voice and Amayrani placed the hand she had been holding into his outstretched one.
Penelope went next.
“Jade. Your mother and I love you beyond the sun and stars. We want nothing more than your happiness and safety. Do you believe that this union with Michael will bring you that lasting joy and the safety you deserve?”
I locked my eyes to Michael’s, one hand firmly in his, the other lightly gripped in my mother’s.
“Yes, mama.”
Penelope places my second hand into Michael’s, her smile tight and tears escaping the corners of her eyes.
Both of my mothers turn to the attendants and Amayrani speaks with authority.
“It is our pleasure to bless this union between our daughter, Jade, and Michael Feng. Our gift to you on this day,” Amayrani gathers a sphere of spellcaster energy between her hands and raises it to the sky, burning of the drizzle and creating a shield of energy around the venue. Energy sparkled in the air like stars.
I gasped and looked around at the venue, suddenly dry and sparkling.
“Thank you” I mouthed to my mother.
Amayrani nodded, and Penelope addressed everyone next.
“The couple will now say their vows to each other.”
They took their seats in the front row of the crowd.
Michael’s large hands enveloped mine. His grip was warm, grounding. He leaned in, lips brushing my ear, quiet enough that only I could ear. “I can’t wait to get you out of that dress.”
I bit back a smile, cheeks flushing as Penelope stifled a giggle in the crowd.
His eyes bored into mine, full of warmth, love, and hunger.
“I, Michael Feng, vow to give you my utter adoration, every day of our lives. I vow to love you, Jade. To protect you. To place your happiness and your needs above all others. From this day on, I am yours, body and soul. My heart has been yours far longer.” He slides a thin diamond encrusted band onto my finger that fits snuggly against my engagement ring.
My heart hammered in my chest. I was sure Michael could feel my pulse through my fingertips clasps in his hands. He stroked his thumb over the back of my hand, a gentle encouragement.
“I, Jade Goth, vow to be yours and yours alone, all the days of our lives. I vow to love you, to support you, and to lead by your side, come what may. I vow to love you and respect you and care for you until my very last breath.”
I slid a solid black band onto his hand. And just like that, the girl who once flinched at the darkness of his world was gone. I stood tall in her place; wife, leader, spellcaster. His.
He pulled me in for a kiss, his right hand cradling my face, his left going to the small of my back. He leaned me back in a dramatic dip as his lips met mine, solid and sure. I felt like I could see our future in that kiss. The joys and sorrows of life, sealed with a promise that we would celebrate and enjoy them all together. I almost couldn’t hear the crowd cheering and applauding over the rush of blood in my ears. It was almost like it was just Michael and I there on that altar. My hands clasped behind his neck and I pulled him in just a little more. I felt the rumble of his laughter more than I heard it, and he rewarded my eagerness with a flicker of his tongue against my lips. What a tease.
He released me from our kiss and we faced our family and friends, husband and wife. Until the reaper comes calling.
Later, during the reception, we danced under the glowing lanterns strung through the olive trees. Tartosa glistened around us, bathed sparkling light. Opal twirled Morgan under a string of lights, both of them laughing, basking in the joy of Opal’s pregnancy. Henry VI Phan raised his glass toward us in a toast; Michael said he would make an important ally someday. Michael’s friend Alexander Goth nodded approvingly from his table, and Nikolàs Stathoulis, head of the Tartosan Order, bounced little Andreas on his knee while Tessa dabbed at her eyes with a linen napkin. And my mothers danced together, their love spanning decades that their ageless faces didn’t show, palpable in the air
Michael pulled me close during a slow dance, one hand splayed against the small of my back where the dress dipped low. His lips brushed my temple, then my jaw. “You’re mine now.”
I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. “I was always yours.”
He kissed me, slow and deep, and the world blurred away, a haze of color and song, magic and light.
Part 12: Bloodlines and Boundaries
Part 13: Honeymooners (Coming soon!)
Translations:
- Hebrew -
Ama: Mama
Aba: Papa / Dad
Shabbos Goy: A non-Jew who is employed by Jews to perform certain types of work that Jewish religious law prohibits a Jew from doing on the Shabbat.
Bat sheli: My daughter (term of endearment).
Baruch Hashem: Blessed is God, Thank God
Hashem: God
- Finnish -
Pikkunen: Little one
The shrill beep of my alarm jolts me awake, and for a moment, I forget where I am, until my head nearly hits the ceiling above me.
Oh yeah. This isn’t my normal bed. This is a bunk bed. Well, my bunk bed. I turn off my alarm and check the time.
6:30am
Great! I have one and a half hours until my first class! I get up, crouching low under the ceiling, and carefully climb down the ladder, the rungs digging into my tender soles.
I take my time getting ready. I grab my shower basket and shoes and go to the coed hall bathroom to shower. Thankfully, it’s early enough that nobody is here yet. I quickly shower and then dress inside the stall, pulling my white cotton t-shirt dress over my head, and put my hair up in a towel before scurrying back to my and Mio’s room.
When I enter, I chuckle to myself when Mio lets out a snore and turns toward the wall. It takes me several minutes to dry my hair. I look in the mirror in the dim room, the sunrise just barely peaking in through our closed blinds, and stare at my reflection. My long hair falls over my shoulder, the color of chocolate splashed over my sweater. Should I cover it, like I always have? Or should I continue as “Tess”, the modern girl who lets her hair flow freely?
I take a deep breath. Today is too important. I don’t want to be worried about it all day. I grab one of my favorite scarves, a long aqua one, and carefully wrap it around my head into a turban-style. It stays out of the way and conceals my hair for the day. I look back up at myself, my emerald eyes sparkling in the morning sun, shining brighter when accompanied by the bright scarf.
I can be both. Depending on the day.
My classes pass quickly in a flurry of syllabi and notes. Everyone seems too focused on their stacks of fresh notebooks and tablets with tapping styluses to even look at me and my head covering. I even see a girl in a hijab in one of my classes. Maybe this won’t be too terrible.
After classes, I text Mio and Minato to see if they want to meet at Foxbury Commons for lunch. I find a seat in the packed hall and pull out my laptop and planner as I wait. I already have homework due this week, and I need to schedule time for working on my term paper and project. I am deep into writing down everything for the semester into my planner when Minato drops his heavy backpack into the chair beside me, making me jump.
He all but collapses into the next chair over and dramatically leans back.
“Another semester, another day of chaos. How has your first day been, Tess?”
I grin at his theatrics. “It’s been busy. Just trying to make a plan to get through it all.”
“Wow, way better than my normal plan.”
“And what’s that?”
“Wing it.” he rights himself in his chair and flashes me a sideways grin.
Mio joins us, and I introduce them. I continue jotting down assignments and due dates and listening to my two new friends talk on and on about pop culture, course loads, and the upcoming school spirit day.
By midterms, life at Foxbury had settled into a rhythm. Classes. Commons. Library. Dorm. Repeat. The homesickness came in waves, but the freedom? That came like a flood. Some days, I wear my veil. Other days, I don’t. I’ve learned I can still feel like myself either way, and that was a revelation I never expected.
Mio has become my de facto Shabbat Goy, and has been helping me when I can’t turn on or off ht lights on Saturdays or can’t tear my notes out of my notebook. She has also been amazing, running interference against men who may try to have physical contact and prevent me from having to deal with those conversations.
“Do you have any fun plans for the break?” Mio asks me across the table at the Britechester County Library.
“Hannukah is coming up, so I’m going to go home and celebrate that with my parents. I think it will be good since I’ve been away for so long.”
“I know. From when they call, they sound like they miss you a lot.”
I feel a pang of guilt in my chest. “They do…” And the truth is, I miss them too. But being here, living my own life. Having the freedom of not having my mother over my shoulder at every turn? It has been so freeing! I know they miss me. But I’m so scared to admit that I miss them in a very different way. I miss home very differently.
I miss home like I would miss my favorite blanket. The comfort and warmth, and familiarity. But, at the end of the day, I do survive - no, thrive - just fine without it. Being here and forging my own path ahead. I have been excelling in my classes, keeping kosher when I eat, even being able to observe Shabbat with the help of Mio. I have friends and I am social and I go places that aren’t the temple and grocery. I feel whole in a way I haven’t felt since becoming an adult.
I just hope it doesn’t break their hearts.
I step off the train with my suitcase in snowy Nordhaven. I’m only a little surprised by the weather. It was cold in Britechester, but not cold enough for snow quite yet. Meanwhile, my hometown was blanketed in thick sheets of it. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck against the cold as I walk through the platform to the main station to meet my parents. Salt crunches under my boots, and I make a mental note to brush them off really well later so that I don’t damage the leather.
I hear my mother before I see her, her lilted voice saying my name, and I am crushed into her strong arms, strengthened by years of wedging clay. I am surprised for only a moment before the smell of warm bread and powdery pottery invades my senses. This scent, this hug; it’s everything I missed and everything I tried not to. I want to stay here. And I want to leave again. I don’t know what that says about me. I hug her back tightly, before seeing my father beyond her, and letting go to hug him as well.
“It’s been so long, darling. Welcome home.” He says and kisses my veiled head.
“Thank you, Aba. I’m glad to be home.” I smile against his chest. “But could it be a little warmer?” I grin, coming out of the hug.
“Oh, a few months away and our girl has lost her tolerance for the cold!” Ama jokes, taking up my suitcase for me.
“Let the girl live, Jolanda.” My father laughs along, “She’s out there bettering herself so she can take over the family business! No worries about the cold when you’re surrounded by kilns all day!”
I manage to hide my grimace, but my mother still notices something's off. “Oh dear, you’re so pale! They haven’t been feeding my girl well enough at that school.”
“Oh, no, it’s just been a long train ride,” I try to brush it off. “It’s been a whirlwind since my last exam. I feel like I’m just now breathing.”
“We’ll get you some tea and cake when we get home, and then you can rest.” My father puts an arm protectively around me as we walk to the waiting car. We would usually walk all the way home, but with the snow and my luggage, they hired a taxi for us.
“That sounds wonderful, Aba.”
By the time we reach home, I am warm and calmer. We trudge up the slippery steps, more snow having fallen since my parents left to pick me up. Ama makes me tea, while Aba stokes the fire higher. I drink the spiced tea and nibble on cake while being peppered with questions.
“How are you enjoying your studies?” Aba asks.
“How are your grades?” Ama follows up.
“Your friend, Mio. Has she been helpful as your Shabbos Goy?”
“Have you met any nice orthodox boys?”
Yes, they’re all A+, Mio is a lifesaver, and no, Ama. I haven’t met anyone. Those As aren’t just given out. I spend most of my time in the library or studios.
Despite the time away and the lack of “nice orthodox boys”, they look proud of me.
After dinner and tea, the warmth makes my eyelids droop. I excuse myself and head down the familiar hallway. My door creaks open, revealing a childhood frozen in time. It looks exactly how I left it, save for the fresh bedding and lack of my clothes. My stuffed tiger rests on my nightstand, a holdover from childhood, and pictures and posters litter the cream walls. I barely recognize it at home.
I shower and change into my nightgown, then slip between the sheets of my childhood bed. The mattress no longer forms to my body like I’ve become accustomed to at school. I toss and turn, staring as the moonlight reflecting off the snow and through my windows races its way across the wall. It all looks the same. But it doesn’t feel the same. Not exactly.
I must have fallen asleep eventually, because when I wake in the morning, it’s already later than I planned. I can hear my mother’s knife chopping and both of my parents talking in the kitchen. It’s the first day of Hanukkah, and she must be preparing food for the day.
I climb out of bed, my back aching from the bed and my head throbbing from the lack of decent sleep, and I put on my most comfortable t-shirt and pajama pants. We don't usually have any visitors this early in the holiday, so I forgo my scarf for now.
The muttered conversation between my parents stops when I open my door.
“There she is! I thought you’d sleep all eight days!” Ama teases me.
“Just sleeping off the finals fatigue, Ama.” I quip back.
Ama looks stunned at what she must take as sass, meanwhile, I hear Aba stifle a laugh.
“Do you want help grating the potatoes?” I offer, trying to smooth over the tension.
We work side by side, grating potatoes for latkes, mixing batter for sufganiyot, traditional sweet jelly donuts, and frying them all until golden brown. After the cooking is mostly done, I take a quick shower and change into something more celebratory, complete with my head scarf, before dinner and lighting the first candle for the menorah.
Aba says the first blessing and lights the candle, and we enjoy our meal by candlelight. Ama loves to eat dinner by that candlelight alone, and experience how it grows throughout the holiday.
“And your blessings, bat sheli? Do you still whisper them before meals?”
“Every time, Ama.”
“Baruch Hashem,” she says softly, more to herself than to me. She smiles across the table, her tan skin illuminated by candlelight.
“Do you still have the mezuzah I got you?” Aba follows.
“Of course. I don’t even travel without it. It’s on my nightstand right now!”
He reaches across the table to take my hand, a solemn, silent thanks.
I look across the table at my parents, their eyes reflecting the candlelight back at me, shadows settling in the lines of their faces. I know they are growing older, and the thought feels like an icicle through my heart. But for now, I want to enjoy this time together without worrying about what our future holds, even if we decide that we all want different things.
On the second day of Hanukkah, I help Aba down in the studio. The shop is closed, but he has several commissions to work on, and with the shop closed for the holiday, we have six available pottery wheels.
“Come help me choose this glaze, Riza, you’ve always had a better eye for these things than I have.”
I know it’s a lie. The Koopman shop, Terra-Potta is one of the best-known ceramic shops in Nordhaven. Their colors are vibrant and clean. Meanwhile, every time I want something pink, it turns out orange. When I want blue, I get slate. Maybe it’s bad luck, but I feel like it’s skill. I’m just not good at pottery like they are. Not that they would ever believe it.
“Have you thought any more about taking over the shop once you graduate?”
I almost choke on nothing.
I had thought about it. Every day I think about it. I think about how much I don’t want to. I don’t want to be covered in clay every day. I don’t want to be splattered with glaze that inevitably won’t be the right color. I don’t want to take over the business.
I don’t say that, though.
“I’ve thought about it some,” I start out with the truth, at least. “I think we should wait until I’m closer to graduation to really start considering it seriously, though.”
“Of course, darling. We don’t have to think about all that yet! Just enjoy your studies!”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He sets the glaze back on the shelf a little too carefully.
For the rest of the day, I can’t shake that look of disappointment from my memory. I hadn’t even been brave enough to tell him the whole truth yet, and he was already disappointed.
What am I going to do?
The third day of Hanukkah comes and we spend the day together by the fire, trading memories, watching our favorite movies, and snacking on roasted nuts and cookies. Our little family bubble is only popped by the need for dinner and to light the third candle, and then we return to the couches for dreidel.
We take turns spinning the top and winning small prizes. Aba keeps winning, and when I look at him incredulously, he simply pops a candy into his mouth, smiles, and winks.
After dreidel, Ama and I clean up the kitchen.
“In the dorms, do the other kids tease you for your scarf?” She asks me, passing me a plate to dry.
My pulse thrums in my veins. This is her way of asking if I’ve been wearing it.
And I have. Just, not all the time.
“Nobody’s made fun of me, Ama.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She breathed her relief.
“But. Ama,” my heart races in my chest, “sometimes I don’t wear it.” I finally confess.
“Oh.” She is quiet beside me. The water from the faucet continues to run, rinsing the already clean plate in her hands as she stands motionless.
“Ama, I…”
“No, it’s alright, bat sheli.” Her voice is tight. She sets the plate down in the sink with a gentle clink. “Go on to bed, I’ll finish up the dishes.”
I put down the dish towel in silence, and pad to my room. And once I close the doors, I can’t tell if I imagine the sniffles I overhear from the kitchen.
When I wake in the morning, I stay in my room longer than normal. The fourth night is always my favorite, a blend of Aba’s Nordhaven heritage blending with our religion. We celebrate the winter with a Yule log on the fire, and cookies and songs after the menorah.
But as I lay in bed and stare at my ceiling, tears trickle down my temples.
I disappointed Ama by not wearing my scarf at all time like I should. I disappointed Aba by not being enthusiastic about taking over the family business. My grades are the top of my class, but I feel like none of that matters if all I do is disappoint my parents. I’m their only child, and I’m failing them. A sob lodges in my chest, threatening to escape and alert them to my tears.
I take deep breaths and turn towards my nightstand, at my life to this point on a table. My white tiger stuffy, from a trip to Tomerang when I was little. My mezuzah, a constant reminder of my faith and comfort on my hard days. And my phone, currently my one and only lifeline to my friends and the world I long to return to in Britechester. I pick up the phone and text Mio.
Theresa: am I a bad person?
Mio: What happened to “hello”? “How are you?”. But no, Tess. You aren’t a bad person. What happened?
Another wave of tears spill over my cheeks.
Theresa: i made ama cry
Mio: Tessi, what happened?
Theresa: i told her that i wasnt wearing my veil every day… she just froze. And told me she would take care of the rest of the dishes herself. And when i got to my room, i heard her start crying
Theresa: im a terrible daughter
Mio: Have you seen her since?
Theresa: no, ive been hiding in my room.
Mio: Because that always fixes things, right?
Theresa: no. But at least they dont have to see their disappointment of a child.
Mio: Ok, now you’re just being dramatic. You aren’t a disappointment.
Theresa: i feel like one
Mio: Feeling like a disappointment and actually being one are two completely different things.
Theresa: what am i supposed to do now? i feel like making a mad dash for the train station and running away.
Mio: Or - just hear me out - talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Maybe she’ll understand. But you’ll never know until you try.
Theresa: what if she’s mad?
Mio: Then she’s mad. And you can work on things from there.
Theresa: i guess. thanks for talking me down, Mio. You’re a great friend.
Mio: Girl, I’d better be your best friend! I pre-tear your butt paper!
That received a stuffed up snort from me.
Theresa: we agreed not to discuss that particular "duty.”
Mio: Yes yes, we don’t discuss doody duty. Go talk to your mom, Tessi.
Theresa: ookkkkkk. Merry Christmas, btw.
Mio: Thank you! Happy Hanukkah (x4!)
I sit up and dry my eyes. I look in the mirror on my wardrobe and see how red rimmed my eyes are, my face puffy, and my nose red like I’d been caught in a blizzard. Yup, they will definitely know I was crying in here.
I dress, braid my hair and pin it up, and then put on my veil. Now isn’t the time to go without.
I exit my room and see Aba at the counter with coffee and a stroopwafel.
”Aba…” I try to greet him.
He looks over at me, and his expression morphs from contemplation to sadness. He opens his arms, and in an instant, I’m a little girl again. I cross the room in a flash and bury my head in his shoulder, not bothering to hide my sobs from him as he holds me tight and makes soft soothing noises.
“I’m sorry, Aba. I’m sorry. I disappointed you. I disappointed Ama. I’m just…” I descend into another wave of tears.
”Is that what you think, pikkunen?”
”Isn’t it true?” I whimper.
He places his hands on my shoulders and holds me at arms length. I look down at my bare feet on the hardwood, willing a hole to materialize and swallow me whole.
“Look at me, Riza.”
I feel the corners of my mouth pull down as I try to hold back another sob, but I meet his eyes, gray like the sky on a snowy day.
“You could never disappoint us.” His voice cracks on the last word. “You are our daughter, Riza. You are our pride and joy. Nothing. Nothing you could do would change that.”
”But I made Ama cry. Because I told her I wasn’t wearing my veil every day.”
“These things happen. She was shocked. She felt lied to.”
”I did lie to her.”
”But, she understands.”
“Are you sure?”
I see him look over my shoulder, and when I turn around, Ama had climbed the stairs from the studio downstairs. Her apron is stained with clay and slip, and a smudge of gray mars her cheek.
“Theresa, can you help me with a piece downstairs?”
I look to Aba for reassurance, and he nods at me, takes me into a final hug, and sends me to my mother.
We sit at two pottery wheels, hers with a large wedge of clay, mine with about half the amount.
She clicks on both wheels and she begins centering her clay. I have no choice but to do the same if I want to avoid it flying off the wheel.
We spend several quiet minutes centering clay, the whir of the wheels and the squelch of wet clay under our fingers the only sounds around us in the studio.
“I’m sorry, Ama.”
She remains silent and begins lifting the walls of her clay into a cylinder.
Like I always have, I copy her motions in miniature.
She raises her walls higher, before rounding off the upper edge, and then pushing out the bottom into more of a globe shape.
I follow, mine looking like a long pear on the wheel in front of me.
Finally, she flares the neck of the vessel, creating a trumpeted opening before flicking off the power to our wheels.
Mine looks more like a rounded calla lily, one side being off center by the time my wheel comes to a stop.
Finally, she speaks, looking at the vessels in front of us.
“Sometimes, we take the same paths, and we still come out different. How different may we become when taking different paths?”
I look away from our pottery and see her looking at me.
“But that doesn’t make the outcome any less beautiful.”
I inhale, the deep smell of earthenware filling my lungs.
“Your life, at your age, is so incredibly different than mine was. You’re in college. You have access to all the information the world has to offer at the touch of a screen. But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong, bat sheli. Just different.”
”You aren’t mad?” I manage to whimper.
“I was a little mad.” She admits with a sheepish smile. “But I thought about it. I used to be like you. Young, carefree. I used to let my hair down and wear red lipstick!”
“You did?!” I can’t even imagine my mother, hair free and makeup on her face.
”I did. And then I made the decision to devote my life to God. I never meant to make that decision for you.”
”I never want to turn my back on God.” I mutter.
”I never said you were.” She takes my clay-gray hands in hers, the wet earth creating a suction between us. ”But a religion without temptation. A religion without free will. Is not a religion. You have the right to choose your own path.”
”Even if I don’t veil?”
”You know who you are, Theresa. That’s between you and Hashem. But know this: I will support you regardless.”
She smudges a slippery thumb under my eye, a salty tear mixing with the clay on my cheek, withdrawing a giggle from my lips.
“Let’s go and have some breakfast, ya?” She smiles at me, and I see her eyes crinkle in the corners.
“Let’s clean up. Then go have some breakfast, Ama.”
She laughs and we clean up in the slop sink, trading the brush to scrub under our nails, and then we march back up the stairs.
Aba hands us a wet towel to clean the clay from our faces, a warm mug of coffee, and a stroopwafel each.
I spend the morning of the fourth day of Hanukkah nestled between my parents, forgiven and loved, with caramel and coffee on our tongues and smiles on our lips.
The following nights pass in a blur of candles, food, and warmth. We celebrate our Nordhaven culture with a Yule log on the fourth night, and attend temple on the fifth. On the sixth and seventh, we dine together and give each other small gifts. A beautiful silk scarf from Ama, the deep blue shifting and shimmering like the sea in the light. And a sketchbook and pad of watercolor paper with a new Windsor-Newton paint set from Aba. I gave Ama a book on new techniques in pottery, specifically ones found in Komorebi that she’s been dying to try. And for Aba, one of the paintings I did in school, a still life of the vase that I keep on my desk to hold pencils, except now it holds white lilies and paintbrushes against an abstract background that evokes draped fabric in green and gold, my school colors. I hold my breath when he opens the gift, and I’m relieved when a smile stretches across his face and he folds me into a hug, his appreciation for the gift far eclipsed by his love for me.
By the eighth night of Hanukkah, it’s the last night of the holiday and my last night in Nordhaven before returning to The Fox for my next semester. The only downside of our holiday being eight days long is that by the time it’s over, it’s time to return to real life.
We light the last candle on the menorah, and we dine on all my favorite Jewish and Nordhaven foods, from greasy latkes and even more sufganiyot, these dusted with sugar and filled with a red currant jam, to my favorite roasted duck with red cabbage salad. I gaze over the table at my parents, their faces illuminated in the candlelight, brighter and more luminant than the days before. Whether it’s from the additional candles or the new understanding between us, I’m not entirely sure. We recite prayers and blessings, Ama putting in an extra blessing for grace as I return to school, and Aba always praying for my safety and happiness.
Before bed, we relax in front of the fire one more time, thick, rich hot cocoa in hand.
“I remember, Jolanda, you used to tear up the dancefloors and karaoke halls. You still have the most beautiful voice.”
Aba’s gray eyes twinkle in the firelight as he gazes at Ama. I watch a blush creep up her face when she jokes off his compliment. The love between them is palpable. Warm, steady. But visible in every kind word and soft touch of their hands.
My mind wanders as they chatter, hoping that one day I will find a love as strong as theirs.
We stay up far too late, the moon high in the sky, bathing the snow-covered world outside my window in iridescent white light. The soft flannel sheets and a wool blanket of my childhood bed cradle me in comfort and nostalgia, and I drift off to sleep imagining my future. Future Hanukkahs, perhaps one day with a family and children of my own. Will I return to Nordhaven? Will I stay out in the world for longer? Only time will tell.
The drive to the station in the morning is full of mixed emotions. I am excited to return to my studies and see Mio and Minato. But, it pains me to leave my parents behind. We bump along in the back of the taxi, Ama brushing her hand over my hair, exposed in my hometown for the first time.
“You really do have gorgeous hair, bat sheli.” She remarks, I can tell trying to say something positive about this change.
“Thank you, Ama. I promise to still veil every time I say my morning prayers and go to temple.”
“I am grateful for that, at least.” She smiles.
“We love you. And we support your choice. No matter what.” Aba takes my hand as we pull up to the station, squeezing it as if memorizing the feel of my smaller hand in his calloused one.
We step out carefully, avoid patches of ice and snowbanks. Ama pulls me into her arms on the sidewalk, ignoring the paths we block.
“You’re always our baby, Theresa.” Her voice shakes as her warm breath whispers in my ear. “You’re our daughter. And we love you so so much.”
“I love you too, Ama.” I hold her to me, less a grown woman going back to university, more a child clinging to her mother. My eyes sting with unshed tears. Frigid air feels like ice in my lungs when I sniffle, trying to keep the sob forming in my chest at bay.
She holds me at arms length, her warm hands press to my cheeks. “My beautiful girl. You are going to do amazing things.” Tears line her lashes, threatening to spill over her cheeks.
“ Our beautiful girl.” Aba teases and wraps us both in his arms after setting my suitcase beside us on the sidewalk.
For just a few more moments, I savor the feeling of being in their arms before I hear the train pull into the station behind us.
The sound of the train whistle causes my parents to release me.
“I packed extra snacks for you in your backpack.” Ama reminds me for the fourth time.
“Call us when you arrive.” Aba whispers, pressing a kiss to my head.
“I know. And I will. I’ll see you both soon.”
We say our goodbyes, and I reluctantly turn toward the waiting train, my backpack slung over one shoulder , suitcase in tow.
Once I settle into my seat, luggage stowed in the corral by the door, I checked my phone and see that it’s almost time for the train to leave. I look out the window and watch the snow fall, blanketing Nordhaven in a fresh dusting of white.
I open my backpack beside me and grab my blue silk scarf I had packed on top, and wrap it around my neck. Less of a veil, more of a comfort.
The feeling of my mother’s love soft on my shoulders, warding off the chill radiating off the window.
I look forward to the months ahead, my new classes, my friends, and all with my parents’ blessings behind me.
The city felt different in the weeks leading up to the wedding.
It wasn’t just the endless calls from vendors or the sound of Jade’s laughter echoing down the marble halls as she disappeared for fittings and meetings. No, it was the weight in the air. Like something shifting beneath the surface. Something I couldn’t see, but had learned long ago to trust.
I was in my office, reviewing shipment manifests that doubled as coded messages from our southern associates, when the text came through. No name. No message.
Just a picture.
Jade. My Jade. Smiling, radiant, distracted as she climbed into one of our black SUVs, her portfolio tucked under one arm. The flowers from the trial bouquet still in her other hand.
Underneath the photo, a single line:
So this is our new daughter-in-law. Time to introduce ourselves.
My jaw clenched as I stared down at the screen, the room seeming to tilt slightly as the blood roared in my ears.
Victor.
Of course it was him. I knew the tone, the arrogance. The way he always spoke about women as though they were acquisitions or bargaining chips.
It had been years since we had spoken. He was still held influence on the city, but I actively avoided putting myself in environments I knew he would be a part of. We were family in name only. But given the way my rage thrummed through my veins, even that wouldn’t be the case anymore.
I was already out the door before I realized I’d moved. My guards scrambled to catch up.
Working with Nova Curious, one of my newest hackers, we were able to triangulate the source of the text message quickly. It lead us to the warehouse district on the far edge of Uptown. One of the safehouses situated among a labyrinth of industrial lots, though I hadn’t used it in years.
I brought the SUV to a quiet stop in front of the lot, trying to keep stealth on my side.
But the front door was ajar.
So I didn’t knock. I just marched in to face my father.
The first thing my eyes locked in on was Jade, sitting on the dropcloth covered couch with her arms restrained behind her back, her hair a tangle, her lip split and swelling. Her amber eyes, full of tears, locked onto me and I caught a glimpse of fear before she realized I had come for her. I swept my eyes down her body, taking inventory of her condition. One of her heels was broken, and her blouse was stained with blood; just a drop, but enough to make my vision blur with rage.
I heard lanquid footsteps exiting the kitchen behind her, and there he was.
Victor Feng stood behind the couch, calm and disdainful. Like world owed him obedience.
“She’s fine,” he said, as if that meant anything. “A lesson. So you know what happens when you betray your family.”
“You don’t get to say that word,” I growled, my hand twitching near the gun at my side. I observed several of his guards in the room behind him, waiting for me to make a move.
He turned to me, unimpressed. “You were supposed to inherit the empire. Not the back alleys. You embarrass me. You embarrass this family.” He said it again, the word a taunt on his lips.
“I didn’t betray you,” I said, cold and low. “I escaped you.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Jade’s hair in his fist, pulling her to face him over the back of the couch. “She’s soft. Weak,” he practically spat in her face before turning his icy gaze back to me. “She’ll break you.” I don’t miss how she winces, whether in pain or fear, I’m not sure.
“She makes me human,” I hissed and raised my gun.
Jade’s eyes widened, and in the back of my mind, I realized that this was the first time she’d seen me like this. I cursed myself for ever causing her to be in this position in the first place. His guards moved behind him, but mine were faster, training their guns on each of his men. They were outnumbered, six to four.
My gun was steady in my hand, the steel heavy but familiar in my palm.
“I could kill you,” I said, cocking the gun and aiming straight for his heart over the couch.
“But you won’t,” he replied smugly, “Because somewhere in that twisted little brain of yours, you still want to make me proud.”
I pulled the trigger without a second thought.
The bullet slammed into his shoulder, my decision to spare him this time. He winced in pain as the bullet threw him stumbling backwards. Several shots rang from his men, but my guards were faster again and much better trained. Two were down before the third could even cock his weapon. I dropped to my knees in front of Jade and grabbed a pocket knife from my belt to cut the ropes binding her arms behind her. She threw her hands around me in an instant and I could feel her trembling in my arms.
“I’ve got you.” I whispered, my free hand roaming over her looking for any other harm. I held her at arms length and took in the angry purple bruises blooming on her face, one under her eye, the other on her jaw. My wife had put up a hell of a fight. “I’m going to take you home, baby.” I kissed her forehead, covered in sweat and grime, before standing once more, and rounding the couch to come face to face with Victor.
I grabbed his shirt, blood blooming at his shoulder, and jammed the muzzle of my gun under his chin. I leaned in, voice low, just for him.
“That was respect. Next time, it’ll be a favor to the city. To my city.”
Victor’s adams apple bobbed with a gulp, not so tough now with a bullet in his shoulder and a glock digging into his throat.
“Do you fucking understand me.” I ground the gun harder into his flesh, “or does that twisted little brain of yours not get it.” I spat his own taunts back at him.
“I understand.” The words pained on his lips.
I dropped him like the trash he was, and holstered my gun. I gathered Jade in my arms and turned to him once more before leaving.
“I want you out of my fucking city, Victor. You and Lily both. You have no place here anymore. You have forty-eight hours to make the arrangements, or I will arrange it for you.”
His glare never left my face, but he nodded.
I turned my back and walked out to the SUV with Jade. She buried her face in my chest, no tears, but I could feel the events of the day catching up to her in the way her fists grasped the edges of my coat.
I climbed into the SUV’s back seat. My second took the wheel while the guards fanned out to secure our route.
I leaned into Jade, gently pressing my forehead to hers.
“Talk to me, baby.”
Her breath came out shaky, but she met my eyes.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was coming out of the florist… And when I went to go get into the car, one of his guys grabbed me. At first, well, I thought it was a mugger. So I screamed and kicked. But they were stronger and put a hand over my mouth.”
I tightened my arms around her as she recounted the event.
“Then I felt a gun in my side. I got scared. So I went with them. They tied my hands behind me and threw me in the trunk of their car. I couldn’t catch myself when they threw me in and I hit my face. Then when we got wherever they took me, I tried to kick again and they punched me when taking me inside.” Her hand drifted to her split lip.
If I clenched my jaw any tighter, I’d crack a tooth.
My lip wrinkled in disgust when I spoke.
“Which one. Which one of his men did that to you.”
I regretted the fear I saw return to her eyes.
“The one on his left, with the blond hair. But…”
My eyebrows furrowed.
“I think your guards got him already.”
I shook my head, a grim laugh leaving my throat in one huff. “Motherfucker got off easy.” I muttered before pressing my lips to Jade’s head again, her messy hair tickling my nose. A welcome distraction.
Jade curled into me more, silent now as I held her. I wanted to apologize, to rage, to promise her a world where this never touched her, but I couldn’t speak. My voice was caught somewhere between guilt and fury.
“I’m okay,” she whispered finally, her hand against my chest.
She said it like a lie she needed to hold on to. A reality she was willing to conjure just to survive. And I let her, because the truth was too much for me to face.
She wasn’t okay.
And I wasn’t sure I’d ever forgive myself.
Part 11: Tomarang Nights
Part 13: The Rain Gives Its Blessing
