Chapter 75 A MOTHERS LONGING
Celestia's Pov
Iris found me at the market again and she looked excited about something. She came over to me really quickly and her eyes were shining.
"I gave him the handkerchief," Iris said quietly.
My heart started beating so fast I thought everyone around us could hear it.
"And? What happened?" I asked.
"He held it up to his face and smiled. It was the first time I've seen him smile in weeks," Iris said.
I felt tears start to come and I had to blink really hard to stop them.
"Did he say anything?" I asked.
“He asked if the blanket lady sent it,” Iris said, her voice low and careful, as if afraid the walls might hear. “I told him yes. Then he asked… if you were his real mother.” She paused, eyes widening slightly, the weight of the question hanging between us. “He didn’t say it angrily or anything—he just… wanted to know. And I didn’t know what to tell him, so I just froze.”
"What did you tell him?" I asked.
"I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to confuse him but I also didn't want to lie. So I just said that someone who loves him very much sent it," Iris said.
"That was perfect. Thank you Iris," I said.
"There's more. He's been asking about you a lot. He wants to know when you're coming back. The nurses don't know what to tell him," Iris said.
"How is he? His health I mean," I asked.
“Not good,” Iris said softly, her shoulders slumping as she spoke. “He barely eats. He’s so thin you can see his bones. The doctors keep giving him medicine, but nothing seems to help.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she looked really sad, eyes downcast as if the weight of it all was too much to bear. “I… I don’t know what else to do. It’s like nothing makes a difference, and it’s breaking my heart to watch him suffer like this.”
"What about Medea and Raphael? Do they visit him?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.
"Alpha Raphael comes by maybe once a week. Luna Medea hardly ever comes. And when she does she doesn't stay long. She always looks uncomfortable around him," Iris said.
That made me so angry I wanted to scream. My baby was sick and alone and the people who were supposed to be taking care of him didn't even visit him.
"Is he always in the medical wing?" I asked.
"Yes. They never let him go outside. They say it's because he's too sick but I think they just don't want anyone to see him," Iris said.
"Why wouldn't they want anyone to see him?" I asked.
"I think they're ashamed. He's the Alpha's heir but he's weak and sick. It doesn't look good for them," Iris said.
I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach, the breath knocked clean out of me. The realization hit hard and unforgiving. They were keeping my son locked up, hidden away like a shameful secret, not because they couldn’t help him—but because they were embarrassed by him. The cruelty of it made my hands shake, anger and heartbreak twisting together until I could barely tell them apart.
"Iris I need you to tell me everything about his daily routine. What time he eats. When the nurses change shifts. Everything," I said.
"Why?" Iris asked.
"Because I need to figure out how to see him. Even if it's just for a minute I need to see my son," I said.
"That's really dangerous. If Alpha Raphael catches you," Iris said.
"I don't care. I need to see him," I said.
Iris looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then leaned closer and told me everything in a hurried whisper. Asher ate breakfast at eight in the morning, lunch at noon, and dinner at six, every day without variation. The nurses changed shifts at seven in the morning and seven at night, creating brief moments of confusion. There was usually a guard posted outside his room, but sometimes they stepped away for a few minutes, just long enough to matter.
"The best time would be during the ceremony. Everyone will be distracted. The guard might even leave to watch," Iris said.
"That's perfect. The ceremony is in two days," I said.
"But how will you get to the medical wing without anyone seeing you?" Iris asked.
"I'll figure it out. I have to," I said.
Iris reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"He drew this. He wanted me to give it to you," Iris said.
I took the paper carefully and unfolded it, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread. It was a simple drawing of two people holding hands—one small, one bigger—sketched with uneven lines that suggested it had been made by tiny, careful hands. At the top, in messy, uneven letters, it read, “Me and blanket lady.” My chest tightened at the sight, my heart aching at the innocence captured in that simple, honest little artwork.
I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They just came pouring out.
"He remembers me. Even though he's never really known me he remembers," I said.
"He asks about you every day. He wants to know if you're coming back. I think he needs you," Iris said.
"I'm coming for him. I promise I'm coming for him," I said.
After Iris left I went back to where Lucian was waiting in the car. I showed him the drawing and told him everything Iris said.
"He's suffering Lucian. My baby is suffering and I'm just sitting here doing nothing," I said.
"You're not doing nothing. We're building a case. We're gathering evidence. This is how we get him back permanently," Lucian said.
"But what if we're too late? What if he gets worse while we're waiting?" I said.
"Then we move faster. I'll push my investigators to work harder. We'll find the evidence we need," Lucian said.
"I want to see him at the ceremony. Even if it's just for a minute," I said.
"Celestia that's risky," Lucian said.
“I don’t care,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady. “He’s drawing pictures of me. He’s asking about me every day.” I clenched my hands, resolve hardening in my chest. “He needs to know I’m real—that I haven’t forgotten him—and that I’m coming for him. I won’t let him think he’s alone anymore, not after everything he’s been through.”
Lucian was quiet for a minute and I could tell he was thinking.
"Okay. But we do it carefully. During the ceremony when everyone is distracted. And Crane goes with you for protection," Lucian said.
"Thank you," I said and I hugged him.
That night I couldn’t stop looking at the drawing. I held it in my hands, tracing the uneven lines with my thumb like I might feel him through the paper. My son drew this for me—small, careful strokes filled with hope. He wanted me to know he was thinking about me, that I existed to him beyond whispered stories and distant promises. The realization settled deep in my chest, equal parts heartbreak and determination.
I traced the stick figures with my finger and imagined what it would be like to actually hold his hand. To hug him. To tell him I loved him.
Soon. Very soon I would have that chance.
The next day I asked Iris to give Asher another message.
"Tell him his mama is coming to see him soon. Tell him to hold onto the handkerchief and think about her. She's thinking about him too," I said.
"I'll tell him," Iris said.
"And Iris? Thank you for everything you're doing. I know it's dangerous for you," I said.
"It's worth it. That little boy deserves to know his real mother. And you deserve to have your son back," Iris said.