Chapter 87 REAL MOTHER
Celestia's Pov
I made it to the medical wing section of the pack house without running into anyone. The hallways were empty just like I hoped they would be. Everyone was at the ceremony watching Medea get blessed by the Elders.
I followed the directions that Iris the kitchen maid had given me. She said to take the back stairwell on the east side of the building because it was less used and would have fewer people. She also said Asher's room was on the second floor at the end of the medical wing.
I found the stairwell and opened the door. It was dim inside with only small windows to let in light. I started climbing the steps quickly because I only had ten minutes according to the plan. Ten minutes to get in, see Asher, and get back out before anyone noticed I was gone.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, a relentless drumbeat drowning out everything else. Five years. It had been five long, unbearable years since I last saw my son. Five years since they ripped him from my arms when he was barely minutes old, still warm, still mine. Five years of sleepless nights spent wondering if he was safe, if he was loved, if he ever cried for me. I wondered if he remembered my voice, my scent, my touch—or if I had already become nothing more than a shadow he’d never known.
I was halfway up the stairwell when I almost tripped over something. I looked down and gasped.
There was a small figure sitting on the steps. A little boy with pale skin and dark hair wearing pajamas and slippers. He was hunched over with his knees pulled up to his chest and he was holding something pressed against his face.
My handkerchief. The one I sent to him. He was holding it and breathing in the scent.
"Asher," I whispered.
The little boy looked up at me with wide eyes. Those eyes. I would know those eyes anywhere. They were my eyes. The same shape and color. The same way they tilted slightly at the corners.
My knees buckled without warning, and I lurched forward, clutching the railing just in time to keep myself from collapsing. The metal was cold beneath my palms, grounding me as my vision blurred. This was my son. My baby. Flesh of my flesh. Right here. Right in front of me. Five years of loss, grief, and aching emptiness crashed into that single moment, stealing the air from my lungs. He was real. Alive. So close I could almost reach out and touch him, and the realization shattered me in ways I hadn’t known were still possible.
We stared at each other for a long moment. I could see him studying my face trying to figure out who I was. He looked so small and fragile. His skin was too pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was clearly very sick.
But he was beautiful. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"You," Asher said quietly. "You smell like my blanket."
His voice was small and weak but hearing it made tears start streaming down my face. My son's voice. I had never heard him speak before because they took him away before he could make any sounds except crying.
"Because I am your mother baby. I am your mother," I said.
My voice came out choked and broken, barely recognizable as my own. I was crying so hard my chest ached, breath catching painfully between sobs, the words tangling on my tongue. Still, I forced them out, one by one, because this mattered more than my fear or shame. I needed him to know. I needed him to understand who I was, why my hands were shaking, why my eyes wouldn’t leave his face. Even if he didn’t remember me, even if he didn’t believe me yet, I had to speak. I had waited five years for this moment, and silence would have destroyed me.
Asher's eyes got even wider. He looked at the handkerchief he was holding and then back at me.
"You are the blanket lady," Asher said.
"Yes. I am the blanket lady. And you are my son. My Asher. I have been looking for you for so long," I said.
I moved closer to him and knelt on the step below where he was sitting. I wanted to grab him and hold him but I was afraid of scaring him. He looked so fragile like he might break if I touched him wrong.
Asher reached out with one small, trembling hand, his movements slow and uncertain. His fingers brushed my cheek with a feather-light touch, as if he were afraid I might disappear if he pressed too hard. The contact stole my breath. His skin was warm, real. He studied my face with wide, searching eyes, memorizing me, testing the truth of my presence. I stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, letting him decide for himself whether I was real—or just another dream he’d been left alone with.
"I thought I made you up," Asher said. "I thought you were just in my dreams."
"No baby. I am real. I am right here. I have always been real and I have never stopped thinking about you," I said.
I took his hand in mine and held it carefully. His fingers were so thin and cold. I could feel him trembling.
"Why did you leave me?" Asher asked.
The question broke my heart into a million pieces. He thought I left him. He thought I abandoned him.
"I did not leave you. They took you away from me. I tried so hard to keep you but they would not let me. They said you were sick and needed special care. They said I could not see you. But I never wanted to leave you. Never," I said.
Asher looked at me with those big eyes and I could see tears forming in them.
"They told me my mother did not want me because I was sick. They said she had a new baby now and did not need me anymore," Asher said.
"No. No that is a lie. All of it is a lie. I wanted you more than anything in the world. You were perfect. You are perfect. Being sick does not change that. And there is no new baby. There is only you. You are my only child," I said.
"But the ceremony. Everyone said there was going to be a new baby," Asher said.
“That woman is not your mother,” I said, my voice shaking but resolute, each word tearing its way free. “I am your mother.” Tears blurred my vision as I forced myself to keep going. “She lied—about being pregnant, about everything. There is no baby. There never was.” My chest burned with the effort of speaking the truth aloud. I needed him to hear it, to feel it, to know that whatever stories he’d been fed were built on lies, and that I was standing here now because I never stopped being his.
I probably should not have told him that but I could not stand the thought of him believing Medea was his real mother or that I had replaced him with another child.
Asher was quiet for a moment processing what I said. Then he looked down at the handkerchief he was still holding in his other hand.
"This really came from you?" Asher asked.
"Yes. I sent it to you so you would know I was thinking about you. So you would know someone cared," I said.
"I sleep with it every night. It makes me feel safe," Asher said.
"Good. I am glad it helped. I wanted you to have something from me," I said.
Asher suddenly leaned forward and wrapped his thin arms around my neck. He was hugging me. My son was hugging me for the first time in five years.
I wrapped my arms around him carefully and held him close. He was so small and light. I could feel his bones through his pajamas. He was definitely not getting enough nutrition or proper care.
"I missed you," Asher whispered into my shoulder. "I did not remember you but I missed you anyway."
"I missed you too baby. Every single day I missed you," I said.
We stayed like that for a long moment just holding each other. I was crying and I think Asher was crying too. Five years of separation and pain and loss all came pouring out.