Your elbow deep in your work when you hear a tentative knock on the basement door. “Mother, I made dinner, we need to talk.” Her voice is hesitant, and you frown. You had taught your daughter to stand up to you, so her hesitancy was a bit of a backstep… but you attribute it to her having a bad day and shrug it off.

“Just finishing off, I will be up in a moment.” You end the groaning quickly, as it would be of little use now… then standing you walk to the stairs, wiping your hands off on your apron as you climb them.

Clearly, she has put some effort into the meal, as you emerge from the basement you are assaulted by the warm smells of food, clearing your nose before filling your senses with richness. You tug your lips into a smile as you look at the spread “Looks delicious Heather.” Though you note that only two places have been set. “Where are Kyle and Laura?” you ask, sitting at the table.

Heather shivers her hair still wet from the shower she clearly took, She looks at you. “They already ate, Mother, please clean up, did you not notice?” Her voice is hesitant, and shaking.

You almost admonish her, but follow her eyes to your hands, and in the stark white light of the kitchen they are stained, and dirty, just like your apron. “Ahh, oops, I hadn’t noticed.” You make sure your words sound sheepish, sometimes you can be so ditzy, you stand, moving to the sink.

Heather skitters out of the way, and around the kitchen table, setting down two glasses. You take your apron off and hang it on the side of the fridge, then go to work cleaning your hands. It takes a fair bit of time to get them spotless, your daughter had been right, they had been absolutely filthy. You’ve scrubbed them red after a few minutes, and they finally feel clean.

Moving back to the table you sit, opposite Heather, and give her a smile. She looks nervous and stares at the food. A perfectly cooked stirfry, but clearly one she clearly feels sensitive about. “It looks delicious.” You say as you serve yourself. That doesn’t reassure her enough, so after a bite you add “Is delicious.” That brings a smile to her face though it’s a little awkward.

It takes several minutes of eating in silence before you realize it’s not the food she is worried about. As you finish a mouthful you ask “Heather, is their anything else wrong?” She almost falls out of her chair as she is clearly startled. “Dear, there are no wrong answers, I’m here for you, I can help.” You give her your most charming smile, the same one you caught her father with.

Heather takes a deep breath. Then lets’ it out again, before looking at you. She shivers her eyes shrinking to pinpoints and her breath comes far to quickly “…” Her mouth opens but nothing comes out, reminding you of a wordless scream.

With a note of warning “Your hyperventilating dear, calm down, I taught you better than that. I’m not going to get mad at a question. Just breath slowly, and take your time.”

She does, forcing another deep breath, and her teenage body seems to shiver all over as she does. She grabs the table, the food ignored as she looks at you again. Slow breaths and she finally manages to squeak out her question… “…did you have a psychotic break?...” not perfectly, her voice is nearly inaudible, and her hands grip the table so hard her knuckles are white.

“That’s better. No Heather, I did not have a psychotic break.” You reward her efforts, clearly this is hard for her. You smile “I’m just you same old mother.” You keep your voice calm and reassuring.

Unfortunately, emotions are complicated, and she does not seem to be reassured. She looks pale, shaking visibly she glances at your apron then Heather takes another deep breath “Where is Dad.” She steps on a sore spot for you.

You frown as you confront one of your failures “I really don’t know, when he left you three, I could not hunt him down. I tried everything, my children need their parents.” This at least seems to help her, a little more blood comes to her face.

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The next question is even harder for her. You see it coming as she looks at the basement door, and the apron that has caught her fascination. You almost answer her before she can voice it. Almost, but it’s better for Heathers wellbeing if she can elucidate on her own. “Is… is he still alive.” Her pupils are pinpricks.

Heather is clearly dealing with a lot. Another time you would have admonished her for her lack of confidence, but it’s clearly more than she could bare. She needs care and loving, neither things you are something your good at, but you can try to be gentle. “As far as I know your Father is. Your rapist on the other hand hasn’t been capable of feeling pain anymore for six hours. I left him alone alive, but seeing the life drain away, I predict he should have expired shortly before we started eating…” You trail off, seeing the look of horror on your daughters face. You push your lips into a frown to display your confusion to her. A little clarification is in order to soothe her a little “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Falling out of her chair your daughter stumbles back and presses against the counter, looking terrified. She splutters and tears stream to her face. The emotions are clearing hurting her, so you stand, to rush to her side, but she grabs a knife and brandishes it at you. It becomes clear that it was your actions against the boy that are causing her pain. You make a sheepish face and apologize, with as soothing a voice as you can manage. “I’m sorry did I read that wrong, you were screaming when he was taking you, and you cried when I pulled him off.” Thinking back, it is quite clear. She had often said her attacker was creepy, and unnerving, and during the act it fit the textbook definition. You never were very good at telling a person’s relationship though so it’s possible.

It does seem to work as she manages to speak to you again, though through wracking sobs, her voice twisted, “Yes, he… but…” You glance as you look at her plate, the food untouched. “Why! You just… Why?” She drops the knife, and a tentative step towards her shows she’s too emotionally compromised to manage much.

Quickly you dart forwards and wrap your arms around her, picking her us and carrying your daughter to the table. “Shhhh” you croon, sitting with her on your lap. “Your letting those emotions take control… eat, I can tell you haven’t touch food since…” You let it hang, and bring a spoonful of food to her mouth as you’ve done many times in the past. She struggles, but only slightly, her emotions clearly struggling with you being the enemy. “Shhhh” this is well practiced, you’ve handled all three of your children through some of the worst phases, and it comes easy to you.

It's a good ten minutes before she finishes eating… and the rote action dampens her emotions and nostalgic memories grounding her. “How?” She mutters as the last of the food passes her lips. “How can you do that to him, and still be Mom.”

Holding her closely and sharing your warmth you admit “I’m not great with emotion.” You state, “You know that, though I doubt you comprehend that it’s because I don’t really feel any.” She stares at you clearly confused so you try to elaborate “Well, that’s not quite accurate, it’s just not connected to anything. I think the I’d be classified as a sociopath, though I have never been formally diagnosed.”

Hesitant, it’s hard for her to ask, but eventually she asks “But… but you love us?” She shivers, still clinging onto you.

You add a sheepish look to your face, and try to tread carefully around her emotions. “I’m not really sure what love is. But, I do know that you are mine, and that I would do anything to protect you three. I want you to be the three most amazing humans on the planet, and I’ve done everything I can to help you grow into that. I’ve had to restrain myself many times in order to optimise your growth, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” You let a frown appear on your face as you’re a little troubled by this “But the feeling of butterflies in my stomach or a warmth at seeing you, is a foreign concept that I still struggle with understanding.”

Heather rests her head on your shoulder, and lay still for a moment. “What would you do if I called the police on you?” She sounds a little worried, and I brush her hair until the tension leaves her neck.

“You probably should, I did commit a few crimes downstairs. I would be annoyed that you would be without a guardian. I have left quite a sum in the account, so I would advise hiring some advisors. You are almost an adult though, so as long as you did your best to take care of Kyle and Laura it would probably be best. I was relying on your father to be the ‘adult’ and be a good role model. I was quite put out when he left, and the last ten years have been a struggle to remain a model citizen.”

Heathers eyes open wide "Don't you care! You would be arrested, taken away, and we would never see you again. They might even kill you, we couldn't even visit you in prison." She is right, it would be tragic and quiet detrimental to your three, presumably lovely children.

"Well, it would be unfortunate, but if you want me locked up then what can I do." You frown "I am your Mother, so I certainly can't hurt you to stop you."