“I never want you to be afraid or alone."
‘Like I was. Like we were.’ She thinks as her mind shifts back to the lonely days in libraries and courts, surrounded by people but feeling horribly alone.
“I love you. What should I call you?”
What should Elsinore call her? She stutters it out, unsure how to say the word without the usual note of disdain and the feelings of rejection and chastisement that she’d associated it with her entire adult life.
"Maman... if you like."
If that’s what she wants. If that’s what she needs. She’d been dozens of personas through her life as a thief. Convincing, deceptive, always with an eye on the prize. But none of that was helpful here.
“Maman. Elvish for mommy? Maman.”
The hopeful tone of the girl’s voice hit home. She was no longer sure who was adopting who as she listens to the young voice test the word, changing its meaning with each syllable.
"Oui." She says softly.
It’s all she can manage. She realizes, deep down, she had always wanted to call her aunt, Kallie Beauchamp, that name. Maman, a parent, a person who would be there no matter what, who listened, who fought for you, who protected you, who loved you in a way that had no comparison. She’d waited too long, and Aunt had settled into that space, but deep down she knew.
“Maman, then.”
Mae's expression struggles between melting and panic, so instead she just smothers her daughter in a hug. Holding her tightly as she tries to hide her tears.
Silently she made a promise to her daughter: ‘I will never betray this. I will never give you reason to be afraid of that word. I promise that when you call that name, I will answer your hope with everything I have to offer my dear daughter.’