The upstairs hallway, once filled with vases and priceless works of art, had been stripped bare on my orders. I’d spent a lifetime trying not to touch anything, break anything, tiptoeing around my own home like an invader.
Noah would not live that life. He was not yet four months old, but he would be crawling soon, and I would make this house his playground. Everything would be baby-proof and made safe for him to explore.
He would feel safe and comfortable. He would have the childhood I did not.
My bedroom was beautiful, the pale-cream-and-gold carpeting, the chocolate-brown silk on my bed. A large canopy was draped in brown and white, creating a protective cocoon for me to sleep in.
I walked to the edge and sat next to the laundry basket I’d left a few hours ago. The scent of fabric softener and baby drifted to me, and I smiled. A few steps away, the door to Noah’s adjoining nursery stood slightly ajar. Just a crack, but enough that I could hear his little body rustling and moving as he woke from his nap.
Unable to resist, I went to him. His nursery was not the usual, animals going two-by-two or big, cuddly bears. Noah was special, and I wanted him to know where he came from.
Three walls were covered with stars and constellations. On the fourth, just above his head, I’d paid an artist to paint Roark’s symbols, the crossed swords that represented Noah’s father, and the symbol of his family, in two matching shields.
The servants hadn’t asked, and I didn’t offer to explain. I’d taken photos of the medallions that still dangled from the chain between my breasts with a cell phone and given them to the painter when she arrived.
The woman simply nodded and transformed the wall above Noah’s crib into both art and tribute in a dark, rich, gold-colored paint. Above his sweet head hung a mobile of the sun and moon that played “Twinkle Twinkle” when I pushed the button. Stored in my bedroom, in the nightstand drawer, was everything I had been able to find on the planet Trion. It wasn’t much, but Warden Egara had helped, and I had photos of his home world, of the people who looked like he did, with their olive-toned skin, black hair and intense stares. I knew Noah would grow up to be big like his father. He’d weighed nearly ten pounds when he was born, and was so long he’d been lean despite the weight. He’d needed extra feeding to keep up with his growth and I’d quickly embraced the bottle as a way to feed his insatiable appetite.
Noah looked like his father, and yet he didn’t. My son had thick black hair and olive skin. But his eyes were mine. Dark blue when he was born, instead of growing darker, as I’d expected, his eyes had grown paler by the day, matching my pale blue. The contrast in his coloring was striking already, and I knew, someday, I would be chasing girls away from him and his exotic looks.
But for now, he was mine. “Hey, big guy.”
His eyes opened and he saw me. Just like that, he smiled, his chubby little cheeks bunching and his eyes sparkling with unfiltered joy.
Love rushed through me, so strong and fierce I could barely contain it. I reached for him, lifting him from his crib. I placed him on the changing table, dealt with a wet diaper quickly. He kicked and fidgeted, eager to get on with it as I laughed and blew raspberries on his soft little belly.
These were the moments when I rejoiced in my time on Trion.
Late at night, alone in bed, I missed him still. My mate. Roark. Being with Noah brought a little of Roark into the room.
Determined not to ruin the day, I leaned over and pressed my lips to Noah’s soft belly again, blowing air in a loud, silly stream on his petal-soft skin. He kicked and squealed, his chubby little fingers brushing the bare skin of my stomach where he’d found an opening under my soft cotton T-shirt. My jeans were comfortable and well worn, and only one size larger than what I’d worn before. Not too bad.
I leaned over and made wild, growly noises as Noah squealed and kicked.
But then the fun stopped. Noah’s hand wrapped around the gold chain that hung from my nipples and he tugged. Hard.
“Ouch!” With a chuckle, I lifted my shirt and found his chubby little fist clutched around the medallion in the center, the one his father had given me. “Let go, silly. That’s not for you, baby. That belongs to Mommy.”
I pried his fingers from the medallion, one by one, but his grip was surprisingly strong as he tried to pull the pretty, sparkling gold to his mouth.
“Noah!” His eyes sparkled with innocent delight as he quickly shoved the medallion into his mouth, fist and all, smothering the entire thing in drool. Which just made prying individual fingers free of the thing without hurting myself that much more difficult.
When I’d first arrived on Earth, I’d tried to remove the chain and the rings. I’d tried pliers and wire cutters. Everything I could think of, but nothing worked. Only surgery would remove them and I had no intention of going there. After a month or two, I’d grown used to them. Before Noah was born, it was my reminder of the short time I’d had with Roark. Then Noah replaced the chain and its medallions as a token of what we’d shared, for our love made him.