   Despite what my father said, my mother got to keep the presents I had brought with me from the castle. She went straight to work with the fabrics I had brought, making dresses that she planned to sell at the market.
   My first week home was okay. I spent most of my time with my mother. Helping her with her work at the portion of the farms that were ours, as well as helping her at home with the housework and sowing. My father spent most of his time in the market or farm with my sisters and brother.
   The first Sunday back home was strange. I joined my family at the congregation, and I had to hold myself together as the man in front spoke feverishly against degeneracy. My eyes flickered to the dirt floor anytime my father would turn to look at me, warning me with his eyes and urging me to listen to the man in front warning against the sin of buggery.
   When the service ended the preacher left and people lingered as they often did afterward. Women often grouped together talking about their husbands and children, while men complained about bad harvests and hard labor. I fit in neither, so I stood at the door, staring out into the dirt path. As I waited for my parents and my siblings.
   “Ah, look at you with your fancy clothes.” I had a man tell me when everyone had moved to speak amongst themselves after the meeting.
   “Hmm?” I hummed, staring at the man with jet black hair who was grinning at me. He was in a red tunic he wore over a pair of hose. I didn’t know the man well, but I recognized him as one of the younger men that had moved into town a few months before I had left for the castle.
   “Your clothes,” he said, even looking down at my shoes. “You’re dressed like the Lord must favor you,” he said, and I looked down at the floor again, not wanting to entertain the questions. “If I knew we were going to get nice clothes for working at the castle, I would have done it,” the man continued, taking a step closer to me. I looked up, unable to see past him. He was taller than me, and bulker.
   “Say, that’s all there is to it, right? The Lord just respects you?” he said, and my face turned white at what he was implying. The anxiety I felt about people coming so close to figuring out my deepest secret had jump-started again immediately I stepped down from the carriage when I arrived home.
   “Manfred!” I blinked, hearing Isabella’s voice from behind the man. He stepped away from my view, and I was able to run away before he could cage me between the wall and his body again.
   I met up with my family, and we walked home together. I spoke to my sisters while my mother held on to my brother’s hand up in front as they walked beside my father.
   When we got home, we eat lunch. My father made me say the prayer. It made me a bit uncomfortable to talk to God when I wasn’t at peace with myself, but I made it through it, repeating the grace in a monotone voice before opening my eyes and asking everyone to eat.
   In the afternoon, my sisters and brother left with my father to go to the market, while I stayed home with my mother—the usual arrangement before went to work for Lord Evenus.
   “Manfred,” my mother called out to me. I blinked, realizing that I had zoned off. It was later in the evening, now and we had a candle out. It burned and dripped wax on the table’s surface. We would usually put the fire out before the candle ran out, and then we would scrape off the wax on the table the next morning.
   My eyes flickered to my mother as I sat upright on the chair at my corner of the table. I rose a brow at her watching as she showed together what would soon become a dress’ sleeve.
   “Manfred,” she started again, humming something under her breath. She didn’t look up from the cloth she was picking a threaded middle through. “Don’t you think we can start saving for you to get married?” she asked, and I blinked, looking down at the wooden table.
   Being so poor that we could barely make ends meet meant that we didn’t talk about things that cost a lot of money—marriage and a family is one of them. My mother never spoke about marriage because we couldn’t afford for me to get married. She also had daughters, and I was sure my parents banked on them getting good homes and men that could take care of them. All focus on finding a partner and starting a family had been shifted away from me—
   “Manfred?” I blinked, looking up from my mother, not noticing that I had retreated to my thoughts.
   “I’m sorry,” I muttered, looking down at my hands. “I was just thinking.”
   “It seems like Lord Evenus is giving you a lot of things…” my mother trailed, referring to the presents as well as the expensive clothes I now had. “I was thinking that after your service in the castle you could gather enough to get married,” my mum said and I just stared at her, frozen in place.
   “Surely there’s a nice girl you’ve been eyeing before you left,” she said, giving me a wide smile. The sides of her eyes became wrinkled.
   She started speaking again. “How about Charlotte—”
   “Mother,” is called, cutting her off before she could go on. My voice had been cold. A shiver ran through me in reaction to the firmness of my own voice.
   “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married.” My tone didn’t get better. It was a testament to how sick and tired I was. How being back home and living amongst my family was exhausting me.
   “I promised Lord Evenus that I would stay by his side.” I had made to promise, but I needed a way to communicate what I felt—to communicate the deepest desires of my heart. The ambiguity of my words confused my mother. She narrowed her eyes at me, frowning as she put the needle and thread away. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. She looked away, staring down at her lap.
   “Could you explain that to me?” she asked. Her voice was calm as always. She seemed more worried about me than annoyed at the tone I was using with her.
   I let out a sigh, reaching out my hand to her. She stared at it for a while, before placing her fingers in my palm. “I love you a lot mother,” I started, feeling her fingers curl up to a fist in my hands. “I would want to be around you all the time and give you grandchildren, but I cannot.”
   “Is this about your father?” she asked, and my lips twisted down in a frown.
   “Somewhat,” I muttered. “It’s more about me,” I added watching as her frown deepened even more. The orange light from the candle flame bounced off her skin, making her look more like a jugful spirit than the sweet mother I loved dearly.
   I closed my eyes, opening them again. I wouldn’t let my fears make me back down from telling her. She needed to know—someone needed to know before I choked and died from my own stress and worries. I needed to share the burden of my secret.
   “Christ had John…” I trailed, feeling my eyes water as I repeated the analogy Alistair had told me all those years ago. “David had Johnathan…” I continued, watching as my mother’s confusion gradually faded.
   “Lord Evenus has me.”
   My hand was shaking. I cast my gaze down at the table, not wanting to look at my mother. A part of me hoped that she understood, and I had finally told someone. A part of me hoped she confused what I was trying to convey to her with something else. As much as I wanted relief from my secret sharing my secret, I was also afraid of her reaction.
   “Manfred—”
   “Yes, I love a man,” I said, not even letting her finish her sentence. “I love the Lord so much,” I added, feeling my body shake as my breathing hiked up. My head shot up when I felt my mother’s smaller hand squeeze my own. I looked up for the first time since I started talking to find tears in her eyes. My heart broke. I wanted to take everything I said back.
   “Mother—”
   “I knew,” she said, letting out a long sigh as her eyes looked down at our joined hands. A teardrop fell down her cheek and she sucked in her cheeks as he tried to breathe. “I knew, but I didn’t want to believe it,” she continued making me feel worse. I wanted to take away my hand, but her grip was hard. Her tiny rough hand with visible veins had their nails digging into my skin.
   “I’m sorry…” I trailed, not even sure what I was offering apologies for. What could I do? I didn’t give myself these feelings and urges. They weren’t of my own making. They were beyond my human craft and comprehension.
   “Don’t apologize to me,” she muttered, her voice bubbling with the first signs of a cry. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I raised you that way. What do I say when God asks me about you?” She was rambling now; thinking about the end days and the damnation to fire she knew I would face.
   “I’m not going to know what to say because even now I’m not going to correct you,” she went on. “I’m still going to love you,” she added, and I could feel my eyes tear up. My mother let go of my hand before getting up from her seat. She walked over to my chair, before reaching out to hug me to my breast.
   “Manfred,” she started, sniffling into my hair. “Oh, I’ve spoilt you in this life,” she whispered, and I closed my eyes, taking in her familiar scent of food and fabrics.
   We stayed like that, not speaking for a while. There was silence, aside from the occasional sound of the roosters outside. The flame of the candle would also crackle when it touched a dust particle. My eyes blurred and grew tired staring at it, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up at my mother.
   “Manfred,” my mother called, taking a hold of my face before forcing me to look at her. “We’re not going to tell your father or your siblings,” she said, and I nodded, taking a hold of her hands.
   “Also—” She paused, looking at my hair. Strands of it were tangled between her fingers. “Let’s cut your hair.”
   I nodded, and she did as she wanted. I sat on a small stool while she cut my hair with a small blade. She made it shorter than usual, making my hair rest on my nape. I stared out into the room, holding my breath as I watched locks of my brown hair fall to the ground.
   I couldn’t help but feel this was the only ‘punishment’ she had in her heart to give me.
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