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Mel knew before she knew.
She’d sensed it. A stirring in her belly. A disturbance deep within. A…presence, so to speak, where there wasn’t one before. She ignores it for as long as she can, pretends the headaches and nausea suddenly riddling her body are simply the result of stress. Only when a month passes and she fails to bleed does she finally steel her nerves and seek confirmation. The two lines on the test in her hand only affirm what she’s known deep down for weeks.
She’s having a child. She’s going to be a mother.
Jayce will be over the moon. Children aren’t a subject that comes up often between them. They’ve barely been married a year, and Mel has always managed to weasel her way out of the conversation whenever it arises. And yet, she has always sensed her husband’s desire to be a father. She hears it in his voice when he tells her stories of his own father, brimming with admiration for the man whose inventions built their magnificent city. She sees it in his eyes, soft and full of fondness, as he watches families with their children during afternoon strolls in Piltover. She feels it in the way he cares for her, gently scolding her and carrying her to bed when they both know she’s overworking herself.
As for her? She wants to be happy. She should be happy.
And yet…
It’s been a week since Mel took the test, and every night, her dream is the same. She’s back in the ruins of the Ionian palace, the broken, scarlet-spattered throne at her back. Her younger self stands before her in a pool of innocent blood. She stares at her, unblinking.
“What will you do?” she asks.
There’s a knowing look in her eyes, so sharp and focused despite her age. They never should have been made to hold such pain. And yet, her childhood was spent wading through the blood of the conquered, up to her neck in it, fighting to prove she could keep her head above the surface. Her adolescence was spent across the continent from all she’d ever loved, sent away by her own mother for her failure as a daughter.
They stare at each other, two lost, frightened children, and Mel can barely breathe.
What will she do? She is far from fit to be a mother. She will ruin this child. Broken will be its birthright, just as it was hers.
Her younger self tilts her head at her, expectant.
Mel has no answer for her. Every night, she can only weep.
“Mel? You okay?”
Mel startles, her head snapping up. Jayce is staring at her with worry in his gaze. She imagines a child, a little one with those warm golden eyes of his, and something in her chest tightens.
Her mouth opens, but no words come out.
His frown deepens. “You’ve been acting distant lately.” For better or worse, he’s only gotten better at reading her over the years. “What’s going on?”
Mel’s throat constricts. She swallows hard as Jayce moves to sit down in front of her, a sick feeling worming its way into her gut. How much longer did she think she could keep this from him? She wasn’t sure, but now her husband is gazing at her with a level of concern that makes her heart shatter. The confession wrenches itself from her lips before she can stop it.
“I’m expecting, Jayce.”
Silence.
Jayce stares at her like she’s sprouted two heads, eyes wide, mouth dangling open. “Seriously?” he manages, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
She nods.
His entire face brightens like a lightbulb. “Oh, Mel, that’s…that’s incredible!” He’s on his feet in an instant, beaming from ear to ear, those eyes of his alight with elation. Mel can’t recall the last time she’s seen him so utterly overjoyed. It makes her heart glow and split in two all at once.
Her eyes are burning, and she realizes entirely too late that they’re filled with tears. She sniffs and swipes at them, hoping her husband won’t see. A foolish hope indeed. Jayce notices, and his expression falls in an instant.
“Mel?” He looks confused, but then realization dawns in his eyes. He sits back down, a scant breath trailing from his lips. “Oh…do you not…?”
“It’s not like that,” Mel assures him quickly. “I want this. I just…” The words lodge in her throat, choking her, impossible to swallow back down but even more impossible to get out.
The gentle weight of Jayce’s hand appears on her shoulder. His other one slides beneath her chin and gently raises her head. Golden eyes meet green. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know how to be a mother,” she confesses.
Finally saying it out loud, it feels as if an enormous weight has simultaneously been lifted and added to her shoulders. How could she know, when she’d spent her life fighting and failing to be worthy of her own mother’s love? Affection, stability, unconditional love. Things all children need. Things she had never known until she met Jayce. Things she still struggles to understand.
The look in Jayce’s eyes is understanding—he knows her better than anyone else, after all. There is so much he could say. He could tell her about how his father was taken from him at a tender age, long before he could teach him how to be a father one day. How he watched his mother work long nights to keep their family afloat, and wonders if he’ll work hard enough to prevent her from doing the same. How, despite his desire for fatherhood, he wonders if he’ll ever be good enough for a child of his own. How he still wakes in a cold sweat some nights, haunted by the image of the little boy who had fallen by his hammer.
He settles on four words.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Mel obeys, lip quivering, eyes glistening with tears. There was a time when she wouldn’t be caught dead crying around anyone, and Jayce will never take the comfort she finds in him for granted. When they stood at the altar just over a year ago, he’d promised he would always take care of her heart. It’s a vow he intends to fulfill until death comes for them both.
“You’re going to be an amazing mother,” he murmurs.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” He starts to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I know how deeply you care for others. How hard you’ve fought to protect our city. To protect me.” He presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Believe me, any child would be lucky to have you.”
Mel says nothing. Couldn’t say anything if she tried. She sniffs, hot tears trickling down her face. Jayce wipes them away with a tenderness she was never afforded when she wept as a child.
“You can do this, Mel. We can do this,” he promises. “Together.”
His words stir something in her. Once, when they were younger and starry-eyed with the world at their fingertips, they’d stood side-by-side on the balcony of Piltover’s opera house. As the glow of the Hexgates lit up the night around them, Jayce had gazed into her eyes, told her he couldn’t have made it this far without her. As he laid with his head in her lap the next morning, he’d told her that nothing felt impossible when he was with her.
Now, years later, Mel can say the same. If she succeeds, it will be because he is by her side. Not for the first time, she wonders what she did to deserve him.
She presses her forehead to his as their fingers intertwine. “Together,” she repeats. “Nothing is impossible, so long as I’m with you.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jayce says, and the smile he gives her makes her heart flutter, like she’s seeing it for the first time again. His free hand trails down her body, coming to rest against her stomach. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
She manages a small smile of her own. “Nor can I.”
During her slumber that night, she finds herself back in the Ionian palace. Once again, her younger self stares her in the eye.
“What will you do?” she repeats.
Mel smiles faintly. She finds the will to move, kneels at the girl’s side, rests a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I will be who you needed,” she murmurs. “I will make you proud.”
A week later, Mel sits at her desk. Her quill hovers over the parchment, hesitating, before she begins to write.
My dearest little one,
It’s been many years since I’ve penned a letter like this. I wrote to my mother often when I was young, messages scrawled on the finest parchments in envelopes sealed with our family’s crest. I’d hoped she would read my letters and know, even from where I dwelled far across the sea, that I was thinking of her. I write to you now to let you know that, although you won’t make your arrival for quite some time, I am thinking of you.
I was afraid when I first learned about you. I still am. Part of me worries I can’t be the mother you need, though your father’s encouragement has helped me on that front. You grow bigger with each passing day, and despite my fears, I can’t help but wonder who you will become. Perhaps you’ll be an artist like myself, or an inventor like your father, or both, or someone else entirely. There are endless possibilities, so many paths to take. I didn’t have the privilege of choosing mine—my own mother had rather rigid expectations for me—but I will ensure that you do.
Your grandmother was a curious woman. When I was a child, she promised she would give me the world, if only I could prove myself worthy of it. I pledge to do the same for you, but know that you will not have to earn it. In fact, you will have nothing at all to prove. When you wake in the dead of night, afraid and aching from your nightmares, I will be there to wipe every tear away. Should you ever stumble and fall, my arms will be open to catch you. And if you are ever imperiled, not even the armies of Noxus could keep me from rushing to your side and defending you with my life. You will never need to earn my love, nor your father’s. Our hearts are already yours.
This is my vow to you, sweet little one. Perhaps you’ll be able to read it for yourself one day.
Your father and I eagerly await your arrival, but please, don’t rush your journey. When you are ready to enter the world, we will be waiting for you.
Until we meet in the flesh,
Mama