Being Sick As A Child Is Painful...

The storm didn't claim a single soul that night.

Despite the chaos, the battering winds, and the sheer wrath of the sea, not one man—or woman—was injured. We all made it back in one piece. It took a few hours after we landed, but eventually, the fishing boats washed back up to the shore, like the tides themselves had kept the promise my father made. The fish crates still secured. The nets were tangled but intact. It was like the ocean had gone mad, then changed its mind and decided to be kind.

The fishermen were ecstatic—grateful, even—and a few of them hugged my dad like he was their long-lost brother. They gave him not one but two crates of freshly caught fish. "One for saving our butts," they said, "and the other because your daughter's the reason we found the fish in the first place."

I had never seen my dad look so awkwardly proud.

After that, we headed home. The rain had stopped and the sky looked scrubbed clean, starry and endless. But the moment I stepped into the house, everything hit me all at once. Exhaustion, shivers, and a weird itch in my throat that turned into a cough before I even sat down. By the next morning, I was officially out of commission.

I couldn't walk. I couldn't even stand without wobbling. My head throbbed, my nose was a blocked faucet, and everything hurt. The sun was out and glowing like it wanted to spite me, and I was lying like a wilted plant on the woven mat on our front porch, my head resting on my mother's lap as she gently combed her fingers through my hair.

She had dragged me out there just to let the sunlight "bake the cold out," as she put it. It wasn't working. My sinuses still felt like they were filled with mud. I know she could fix it but she simply chose not to.

It was the worst.

And yet… my mom was smiling. She was actually smiling. .

"I don't think I've seen you like this since you were a baby," she said, adjusting the cool cloth on my forehead. "Helpless. Sniffling. Moping in the sun like a little duckling."

"I'm dying," I groaned, the words completely distorted through my congested nose. "This isn't how I want to be remembered."

She laughed and leaned down to kiss my temple.

"You've been training with the Oracle since last year and a half, running around like you're an adult, never stopping, never getting sick. Let me have this. I don't want my daughter becoming too mature for her age."

"You're happy I'm suffering?"

"I'm happy you're here," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm happy I get to take care of you for once. Just like when you were little. Do you know how many times I patched up other kids' scraped knees while you were too busy meditating to even catch a cold?"

That actually made me laugh, or at least try to. My body made a pathetic wheezing sound that passed for laughter. She started feeding me slices of cold fruit she'd cut up earlier and for once, I just laid there. I didn't fight it. I didn't argue. I just existed in her presence, wrapped in sun, warmth, and citrus.

"So… how was the Oracle teaching you?"

"The Oracle? You know how she is."

"Yeah. Mysterious tea-loving cryptid teenage girl."

"She's teaching me a new language too."

She gave me that mom look, the one that was half worry, half affection. Then, without saying anything, she reached up and gently touched my horns.

They were warm. I mean, I knew that already. But the way she touched them, like they were glass or something sacred, felt so… close.

"Do you feel this?"

I blinked up at her. "Yes… why?"

"It's like your skin. They're sensitive."

"Yes. That's why I never let people touch them. Could you stop now?"

"Hmm… nope," she grinned, her fingers now tracing the base where they curved back. "You're rarely here. I'm taking my moment."

I groaned, partly because my sinuses were still clogged and partly because my mother was being the most annoying right now. I shower her with love daily! Why is she doing this?

"I can't believe you grew up into this. You're a gift, you know?"

"I mean, I'm cute."

"I'm being serious, little Moon."

That name again. The soft one she used when she was too emotional to say my full name.

"When you were born," she said slowly, her fingers finally pulling back from my horns, "you weren't breathing."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"You were gone for five whole minutes." Her voice cracked a little, but she pushed through. "Dead. Not moving. No pulse. They said it was over."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. You just… came back. Like time flipped or paused or rewound. We don't know. You just gasped like someone pushed air back into your lungs and started crying."

Goosebumps rose across my arms, despite the heat. The God of Time, huh...

I didn't like thinking about that part. The before-me part. The soul or consciousness that had to leave so I could arrive. But it was a dead infant. That was the body I came into. The timing… it wasn't a coincidence.

Silence fell between us for a while. Just the sound of the wind, the occasional chirp, and me breathing through one functioning nostril.

Then, very casually, she said it.

"I'm pregnant."

I blinked. I actually sat up a little too fast and immediately regretted it. My vision spun and I fell back into her lap.

"Wait what?"

She bit her lip, trying so hard not to smile. "Yeah."

"With Dad?!"

She laughed. "Of course with your dad!"

"But—how?!"

"Okay, do not make me explain this to you like you're five," she said quickly, now blushing. Actual color was rising on her cheeks..

"I am five. How are you..."

"Verdamona—"

"Nope." I grinned like a demon despite my fever. "Explain, mother. How are children made? I have always wanted to know."

She covered her face with one hand. "You are evil."

"And you're literally pregnant. Soooo…"

She groaned. "Okay. Fine. I thought the Oracle taught you... we… bonded. Intensely. We had an intimate moment, Verdamona."

"How? Like a hug?"

She snatched a mango slice and shoved it in my mouth to shut me up. I chewed and gave her the most innocent stare I could.

"I'm proud of you, Mom."

"You're insufferable."

"I'm your daughter."

"I know," she sighed dramatically, but I could tell she was smiling. She already knew I was way more mature than other kids.

"So… you haven't told Dad yet?" I asked, swallowing the mango.

She shook her head. "I wanted to wait for the right time. But then the storm happened. And you got sick. And everything's been so much lately."

"He will hug you for an hour."

"He'll probably name the baby after a fish," she muttered.

"I'll fight him."

We both laughed.

I settled back into her lap again, the sun still warm against my face. My fever wasn't gone, but in that moment, it didn't matter. My mom was beside me. She was happy. I was teasing her about pregnancy. I was learning a weird language and life. And somehow, I was born from a miracle that involved the possible intervention of a Time God.

It was weird. All of it. But it was mine. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

But for now, I need to get rid of my sinuses. Being sick as a child is painful...