the son of a married man

She, a prostitute, an outlaw rejected by society. 

He, a writer, an orphan, a kind man who aids society to the best of his capabilities. 

They are connected by one.

After spending a rough night with a disgrace of a man, she is thrown onto the bridge, left bruised, bleeding, and paid 6 gold coins. 

He, on an evening stroll, admires the houses and beauty of his town in the dark, pale, moon light, accompanied by some lamps that decorate the streets. He sees her frail body splayed over the pavement. He steps closer, curiosity and worry pulling him toward her. He sees the blood, sees her limbs weak and littered with blue and purple splotches. He puts two fingers to her neck, right below her jaw. Feels the faint beat of her heart, too slow for his liking. 

Alexander looks at her face, stops when he recognizes her. He knows many people down here, and has held many conversations with most of them. 

But this one, he knows her, if indirectly.

This one, he has something of hers.

He brushes his knuckles against the rough concrete, bringing his arms under her and lifting her against his torso. She’s extremely light, fragile and trembling through her thin, mauled dress. 

He walks back to his home with her, brings her into his room, and gets greeted by his son.

“Papa?” the boy rubs his eyes tiredly.

“Leo, you’re supposed to be sleeping,” he scolds softly, placing the woman down on his bed.

“You left,” the boy says softly, going towards him. “Got scared.”

“I apologize,” he says, caressing the hair of the boy he loves so much as his leg gets hugged. “I just needed some air.”

“Who’s this?” Leo asks, looking at the woman his father brought in. She had long brown hair, a similar texture to his own.

Leo wasn’t always Alexander’s son, to some he will never be because he is not Alexander’s flesh and blood. But with how much he loves the boy that means nothing. 

He found Leo in a young woman's home. A scrawny four year old chewing a piece of bread and looking up at him with curiosity. She begged him to take the boy, explained that he couldn’t stay with her or he would be found. 

At the end of that week, he was living with Alexander.

Ever since, the boy has had his heart. 

“I found her on the bridge,” Alexander says, getting a wet cloth from the kitchen, a jar with a yellow paste in it and some other items. 

“Do you know her?” his son asks. 

He shakes his head. “No, I do not.” he omits.

“That’s weird, you talk with everyone,”

He laughs, nodding his head at the boy. “Go to bed,”

The boy hugs his neck and runs off to his room, Alexander’s heart flutters with appreciation for whomever brought Leo to him in this life. 

His focus turns back to the girl. 

He moves her matted hair from her face, cleaning the dirt and grime away with the warm, wet cloth. He takes the small cotton swab he had retrieved when getting the other items and takes a small bit of the yellow paste he has. He parts her lips slightly and puts some on her gums. 

He got this recipe from an elderly woman he used to visit when he was ill, she would care for him without asking for much money. He never liked traditional medicine, and she was always much nicer than doctors. It’s a mixture of sugar, honey and a bit of whiskey. He used it on Leo whenever the boy got sick to bring up his energy and blood sugar.

The girl doesn’t squirm or move, he feels worried for her. 

Once that’s done, he cleans her wounds with the wet cloth and applies a thin layer of a salve he got from the local herbs merchant. 

He wonders if he would be pushing his luck, were he to undress her and put clean and dry clothes on her. He wouldn’t want to wake her nor have her think he had done anything indecent to her, so he sighs and decides to just cover her with a warm blanket. 

He closes the door of his bedroom to leave her space and goes to Leo’s room, and then to the living room once he sees the boy sleeping soundly. The time of night pulling him towards sleep.

✧ ✧ ✧

The morning comes, he goes to the kitchen and starts to make porridge for breakfast. He brings some fish he got from the market, mostly the fat and dense pieces that Leo and he hadn’t eaten, out into the front of his house for the cat that comes to visit. He sees her and pets her soft fur, smiling softly.

He hears a thump within the house and frowns.

He goes inside and finds the woman he brought in the night before on the floor of his room, panicked. 

“Good morning my lady,” he says softly, not moving from his spot in the kitchen, not wanting to frighten her further. 

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything, only stands.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, not knowing what else to say.

She visibly swallows, staring at him. She grabs the pencil on the small table by the couch and swiftly goes behind him, pointing the sharp edge at his throat, seeing him as a threat. 

“Who are you?” she grits, voice filled with caution that could be mistaken for dangerous intent, but Alexander has spent too long with the troubled to make that mistake. 

“Alexander Auxilia.” he says calmly.

“Where am I?”

“My home,” her grip on the pencil tightens. “East side of Argent, near the cultivators market.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Papa?” He hears Leo’s voice in the kitchen. 

“You were unconscious, on the brink of death,” Alexander responds, 

“Trying to play hero?” she bites. 

“Only on friday’s” he jokes, “can you lower the pencil?” 

She doesn’t, his son calls out to him again. 

“Who knows I'm here?” she asks, 

“My son, the boy calling out to me from the kitchen. No one else.” 

“Why should I believe you?” she tightens her grip, voice tight within her throat. 

“Is there anything I can say to make you believe me? Because with the way you are asking it sounds like the answer will just make you want to pierce my throat no matter what. You see me as a threat.” 

She seems taken aback, hesitates before speaking again. “No one else knows I’m here?”

“No one.”

She lowers the pencil, tucks it into her ear as a way to tell him that she still doesn’t trust him. She steps back, he turns around to face her. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks. He goes around her to go to the kitchen. After watching him, she follows a few feet behind. 

She sees a little boy with fluffy, disheveled hair running towards Alexander. She watches as the boy hugs the tall man and looks up at him as if he had hung the sun to make day and the moon to make night. It makes her feel something, but she doesn’t know what.

He checks the porridge, stirring it and caressing his boy’s hair. 

“Sit.” he tells her, motioning to a small table and two chairs with his wooden spoon. “Leo, go get an extra chair from my office.”

The little boy runs off, her gaze is almost childlike as she watches him. 

She still doesn’t sit, unsure of the intention behind Alexander’s demand. She just watches. 

He pours the food into three bowls as his son brings the chair and places it where Alexander usually sits. 

“What’s your name, lady?” Leo asks, starting to eat his porridge, a big smile on his face. 

She thinks for a moment, hesitating, not knowing what to say. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. But when she sees the birthmark on his ear when he moves his hair, her eyes widen.

“We shouldn’t pressure her Leo, she might not trust us just yet and that’s fine.”

“Alright!” the boy lets out with a mouth full of food, seeming content with that for the moment. “You should have some porridge, papa makes the best food,”

Alexander eats too, reading the morning paper. 

She takes a step forward, her hand reaching for the chair. Her exhausted muscles thank her when she sits. She can eat, she should take advantage of this before spending another few nights without sustenance.

She starts to eat the porridge, the feeling of warm and fresh food so foreign she almost lets a squeak pass her lips in surprise. She eats quickly, her hunger having been constant for the last… decade? She can't remember the last time she had a full meal.

Leo finishes his bowl and brings it to the sink, Alexander follows closely behind.  

When they look back at the table, the bowl is empty and she’s gone.

✧ ✧ ✧

He’s disgusting, she thinks as she sighs, climbing out of the bed.

She puts her shirt back on, taking out a cigarette. She takes the coins her client left on the dresser and leaves, stealing a piece of bread from his basket. 

She goes into the streets, the wind feeling nice on the warmer night of May. Her legs are shaky, but she ignores them and walks to the west-tree where she spends most of her nights. 

She stops, eyes widening. 

The man, the one who had picked her up that night so many days ago- Alexander- sits under the west-tree and reads. 

He looks up, gaze soft but clearly tired, setting his book down against his lap. 

“Good evening…” he says, 

“Why are you here?” It comes out harsher than she means to, but she really doesn’t need a third client for the night, she’s hurting enough as it is. 

“Reading,” he lifts his book, “Leo’s sleeping,”

She takes in a shaky breath, staying where her feet are planted. 

“Elliti Michealson, the married fish merchant in the neighboring town with a particular liking to young women.” Alexander says, suddenly.

She looks down, fists clenching. 

“He took a liking to one particular outlaw,” he keeps his gaze on her. “But when he got her pregnant, he disappeared. Left town, afraid of the consequences of what he had done.”

“Stop.”

“She had gone to an old friend’s when the birth was coming, and had begged her for help. She left the child, never knew what happened of it, thought she was unworthy of knowing.”

“Stop it.” 

“Your name is Petra Tartale, isn’t it?”

She stares at the ground, her heart beating miles a minute and her breaths feeling out of reach.

“You’re the mother of my son, Leo.” he says so easily that it makes her want to throw up. “You did everything not to see him again and yet fate brought you back to him-”

He doesnt get to finish his sentence, her hand is on his throat and she’s blinded by fear and rage. 

“I had to protect him. He wasn’t supposed to be brought here.” she grits. 

Alexander keeps speaking, ignoring her.“Not only are you his mother but you’re also the most wanted woman for adultery with a married man in the neighboring town.”

“If they find out he exists-”

“I'm well aware.” He was so calm, not at all threatened by the hand holding him between life and death. “But they won't.”

“How can i trust you-” her grip tightens, but her head whips around when she hears a small voice. 

“Papa?”

Leo stands in his pajamas, a few feet away from Petra and his father. His eyes are wide with fear and confusion despite the sleepy undertones of his mannerisms. 

“Leo, go back inside.” Alexander orders,

Petra doesn't say anything for a moment, then looks down. 

“How much did you hear…” she says, afraid of the answer. 

Alexander looks at his son, the boy he raised and taught to believe that his mom was a simple woman who died of sickness. 

“My mom-” Leo struggles to speak his thoughts, they race with too many emotions- many that he can’t comprehend. “You said she was sick-”

“I’m sorry Leo.”

“How-” he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. “The lady-”

Petra’s legs shake, should she run or stay put… she doesn't know what to do. 

If they find him…

“You- you’re my mom-,” he stutters, his small hands trembling. “You were talking about people finding out-”

He’s articulate… she thinks, but quickly comes back from it since she can't afford to get attached. 

He could die because of her.  

“I don't understand-”

“It’s alright Leo,” his father reassures. 

“Papa - i don't understand-”

“I know-”

He doesn't understand, he runs.