Legacies and Lies

Every Half Moon

I stared out the window, watching the stars twinkle in the dark sky, when I couldn't help but ask, "Mummy? When will Papa return?"

Mummy sighed softly, her breath warm against my hair as she pulled me close. "Soon, Stella," she whispered, but her voice carried something that made my chest ache, a sadness she tried to hide. I leaned my head against her, feeling the softness of her nightgown beneath my cheek—so smooth and delicate, like the silk Papa had given her once. The thought of him made me frown. I missed him. My fingers twisted through strands of her long copper hair as I blinked at the stars outside.

"Where is he?" I asked again, my words slurring a little as I grew more tired. Mummy's fingers gently brushed through my dark hair, her smile barely reaching her eyes.

"He's probably pulling his ship into port as we speak," she said quietly, her voice low under the soft glow of the oil lamp. I could feel the warmth of her chin resting on top of my head, and I found comfort in her closeness.

"Do you remember what Papa's ship is called?" she asked, as though trying to distract me.

I smiled sleepily. "The Jolly Roger," I mumbled, proud of myself for remembering.

"That's right, dear heart," she praised softly, stroking my hair. "And when does he return?" Her voice sounded far away now, like a dream, but I was too tired to answer. My eyes shut tightly, sleep creeping in.

I heard her whisper something faint—"Every half-moon." Her words hung in the air, as if they were meant more for herself than me. Papa came home twice a month, sometimes less. Each time, he would tell us the same thing, that when he saw the half-moon from wherever he was, he thought of Mummy, of me. He called her his "other half." I thought that was lovely, even though I didn't fully understand it.

I was nearly asleep when a soft knock startled us both. Mummy tensed, and I felt it. She didn't move me though, just whispered, "Come in," careful not to wake me fully.

The door creaked open, and I could hear the soft, familiar voice of my grandmother, Edith. "Is she asleep?" she asked.

"As sound as a lamb," Mummy replied.

I peeked through my half-closed eyes, seeing Grandma's smile. She always had her lips painted red, just enough to make you notice her mouth and not her eyes, which glowed warmly in the dim light. She walked closer, her gaze falling on me.

"Have you or Henry heard anything about James' return?" Mummy asked, her voice carrying a hopeful uncertainty. Even half-asleep, I could feel the tension in her.

Grandma's face fell. "No. We believe he's still on the island," she said, her voice a heavy sigh. I didn't know what island they meant, but I knew it was far away.

Mummy nodded, her grip on me tightening slightly. "I see... thank you, Edith." She turned back to the window, and I could feel her sadness, even though she tried to hide it.

Grandma's eyes lingered on Mummy. "My son is a fool," she muttered, surprising me with the bite in her voice. "A fool for leaving you and this little one behind to chase after some immortal boy from another land. For what?"

Mummy didn't say anything. I could tell she was thinking. I knew she loved Papa, but even I, small as I was, felt the way his absence hurt her. I only saw him for a few days every month, and when he was home, he seemed to think of nothing but his adventures, the boy he was always chasing.

"If you had told me this years ago, I would've ridiculed you," Mummy finally whispered. "But now... now I know you're right."

Grandma's sigh seemed to fill the whole room. "He had a family here," she said, softer this time, looking down at me. "A good one."

The door creaked, and suddenly, the room felt colder. "A failing legacy? Is that what you think of me?" The voice was hard, and I knew instantly who it belonged to. Papa.

Mummy stood up quickly, her arms tightening around me. She looked scared. Edith didn't move, but I could see the anger in her eyes.

Before they could say more, I stirred, rubbing my eyes as I woke. "Papa?" I mumbled, looking at him, his familiar dark curls and tired face catching my sleepy attention.

His expression softened when he saw me, all the hardness gone. "Take Estella," he said to Grandma, though his voice was gentler now.

Mummy hesitated before carefully handing me over to Grandma. "I want to see Papa," I whined, reaching for him.

"Don't worry, my flower," Grandma soothed, carrying me to the bed. "You'll see him in the morning."

I didn't want to sleep, but the bed was warm and soft, and soon I found myself drifting off again. "Papa's back from Neverland?" I whispered.

"He is, my flower," Grandma said softly, tucking me in. She kissed my forehead, and I smiled, though I could hear raised voices coming from outside the room. I didn't like it. Mummy and Papa never argued, not like this.

"Would you like me to stay with you?" Grandma asked. I nodded. I felt safe with her close by, and I tried to sleep, but the voices from the other room kept creeping into my ears. I didn't understand what they were fighting about, but something about it made me scared.

Eventually, the voices faded, and so did I, falling into a dreamless sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, everything was quiet. The moon was still low in the sky, the soft light peeking through the curtains. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. Grandma was gone, and the house felt strange and empty.

I reached out, my hand finding my favorite stuffed bear beside me. I hugged it tight and closed my eyes again, thinking I'd just fall back to sleep.
But then I heard footsteps in the hall—heavy ones. I knew they were Papa's. He walked differently than everyone else. The door creaked open.

"Estella," he whispered, and I stirred, blinking up at him. His eyes, so dark and kind, met mine, and I smiled sleepily as he lifted me into his arms. His coat was rougher than Mummy's soft gown, but I didn't care. I wanted to be with him.

"We're leaving," he said quietly, carrying me down the stairs.

"Papa, where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Far away, my dear," he answered, and I could hear the weariness in his voice.

"On the Jolly Roger?" I asked with a sleepy grin.

He smiled faintly, nodding. "You don't miss a thing."

The cold morning air hit my face as we stepped outside, and I shivered. But I didn't say anything. I just rested my head against his shoulder, watching as our home became smaller and smaller behind us, slipping away into the distance.

"Papa, it's early," I yawned, my breath visible in the chilly air.

"This is the best time to be awake," Papa whispered. "It's quiet. Peaceful. Just us."

I didn't really understand, but I trusted him. The mention of the ocean and the waves made me excited. I had never been on his ship before, and I wanted to tell Mummy all about it when we returned.

I closed my eyes again, hugging my bear tighter, unaware that when I next opened them, my life would never be the same.