You Were Born Reaching For Your Mother's Hand Novels & Stories

“This was the real beginning.” Five words in my mother's handwriting and the floor was still somewhere beneath my feet but I couldn't feel it, I just stood in the dim entrance hall of a building I had never consciously entered and stared at a photograph of myself holding hands with a man I wasn't supposed to have met yet.

"Free your children from pain." The first mother reached for a blade.

"Let the light version die.⁠ L‍et the baby g⁠o. In the deep, we c​a‌n rule thi‍s​ city t⁠ogether.‍ No deb‌ts. No archi​ves. Just⁠ p​ower." ⁠I felt‍ my l‍ungs burning. I needed t‌o breathe. I​ loo‌ked a‍t the baby again.⁠ He was‌ so close. I reache‌d out, my finge⁠rs stretchi‍ng until they hurt. I am not⁠ a monst⁠er, I though​t. I am a m‍other.⁠

A small twitch. My breath caught. My eyes widened as I saw my mother’s fingers move slightly in Zayren’s hand. “Z…Zayren,” I gasped, gripping his arm. “She… she moved.” His head turned to me then back to her hand. It was small, barely perceptible, but it happened. The first sign of life in years. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mom?” I whispered desperately. Zayren gently squeezed her hand. “Ma’am… Can you hear us?”

The weight of my doubts began to lift, replaced by the burgeoning belief that perhaps, just perhaps, I possessed the strength and love necessary to embark on this extraordinary journey of motherhood. In that moment, the world around us seemed to fade into the background, our connection forged in unspoken promises and shared dreams. I reached out, entwining my fingers with his, our hands finding solace in each other's touch. As the water continued to trickle down our bodies, cleansing both our souls and our doubts, I felt a sense of unity and purpose take root within me.

“I should have come sooner.” My mother’s hand lifted slightly as if to reach for Clear, then faltered in the air. She could not move fast enough to pull her daughter close. Tears ran down her face, and Clear instinctively reached toward her. The moment froze in the air. My mother’s eyes shone with excitement, relief, and an emotion I could not name. She finally had the daughter she had lost for so long.

The name given to him, returned to the person it had originally belonged to. She reached into the crib. Put one careful finger against his hand. His fingers closed around hers with the particular grip that newborns had not conscious but entirely real. My mother looked at his hand around her finger for a long moment. Then she looked at me. Her eyes were doing the thing they did when she was containing something too large for the room. “Your father,” she said. And stopped. Because no completion was adequate. “I know,” I said. She nodded. Composed herself. Looked back at him. “He has his eyes,” she said.

I held the key out to her. My fingers trembled. My mother’s hand closed around the key. The spine’s hum reached a deafening pitch. The light became blinding. My mother’s eyes closed. The room shook. The darkness pressed against my skin like a wave. And then The key burned bright. The spine’s hum stopped. Everything went silent. My mother’s eyes opened again. And she looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “Now,” she whispered, “you are free.”

"Embrace your strengths." As she spoke, a melody floated around us, soft and familiar, enveloping me in gentle warmth. It was the song my mother used to hum whenever childhood illnesses threatened to steal my light. The girl stroked my hair with tender fingers, echoing the way my mother had done countless times, and in that moment, everything felt painfully real. It was no longer a dream. I could feel the weight of her hand, the touch of her fingertips against my scalp like a caress from a treasured memory.

Ciara said. She took hold of Aunt Mary’s hand tenderly as she always did and caressed the top of her palm. Her hand was fragile, frail and almost too cold for comfort, but it reminded Ciara of her own mother. When her mother had been sick, she had also held her mother’s hand at night and hoped that her mother would get stronger and better, because she was the only one that Ciara had at that time.