Narrator
15 February 1876
The beginning of the end of Elodie Lavelle
"Push Colette!" The blood curdling screams of a young woman could be heard throughout the entire village. Such was the pain of giving birth. Such was the pain of being a mother. She gripped her patched up sheets with so much force that her nails tore into the fabric, piercing her own skin and drawing blood. Though it paled in comparison to the crimson seeping from her uterus in an attempt to rid both mother and daughter from further suffering and pain.
"I can't!" Colette cried out through her long labour as tears fell and blood spilt. Her dark brown hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat of an 18 hour long labour. The midwife held onto her hand as Colette squeezed it, almost breaking the bones of midwife's hands.
"Any longer and your child will not live to know the pain it's mother endured to bring it into this world. Nor will it ever know the love it could have received." Cruel, but effective. For the poor could not afford to be coddled or the means to lessen their pain. They could only afford the truth. And the cruel fact was, her child was already made to suffer even before it took its first breath. Like a glimpse into what it's future would be like living in London's most poverty filled village.
Colette pushed, filled with a newfound determination, and was ready to give herself up to sleep, her eyes slowly drifting away to darkness until she heard a soft cry. She peeled her eyes open, blood between her legs as proof of her suffering and her child's blessing of life, and a small wailing baby girl in the arms of the midwife. She lifted herself up to sit upright against the weak wooden headboard and asked to carry her little girl.
"Hi," she whispered, afraid that if she spoke even a little louder that the fragile baby in her arms would blow away in the wind. She let her daughter rest against her chest, softly caressing her small face. She had never carried something so fragile, and never loved someone as much as the little one in her arms.
"Welcome to the world little Elodie," colette mumbled, tired from the endless pushing, but happy to finally be able to hold the child she had been carrying for nine months in her arms. It was a type of bliss she had never experienced before. Likewise, the pain she endured felt like something she would never want to go through again.
And so, young Elodie Lavelle was introduced to the world this very day, as healthy and as normal as a newborn baby could be. She had the most gorgeous deep green eyes that were as big as saucers, and lovely dark brown hair that resembled her mother's. However, she was born with an obvious flaw. She was not born into riches or wealth, but into poverty.
The lavelles had never seen wealth in their life before, never knew what it was like living without worrying about the next meal or slaving away for the next dollar, or even the next cent. But as Colette laid eyes on her daughter, she felt like she had just won the lottery, and no other kind of wealth could compare to the love and happiness she felt as Elodie rested against her. A maternal instinct of protection instantly overwhelmed her. For the next 18 years, she would not only have to be a mother. She'd have to be a protector. A provider.
Unfortunately for this family, this would only last less than a decade, as two tragedies would befall them.
