The Righteous Perish

Part 11

One year later

General Kwak took a deep breath. She smoothed her skirt with sweat-soaked hands, clutching the tattered hem. She watched the social worker with unblinking eyes, observing every arch of her brow, every twitch of her mouth. Kwak's heart pounded in rhythm with her thoughts-- I better get approved, I better...!

"Now," the worker asked, "What of Pich?"

"I-I paid for her therapy. She has a baby girl. She says the girl's name is 'Honey, like love.' Now, she teaches shapeshifting classes to tourists at Angkor Wat." 

"You were once alcoholic, correct?"

"Haven't touched it in six months. Will never again."

"What about your husbands?"

"I divorced them."

The social worker smiled, crinkling her large eyes.

"I'm proud of you, General. You managed to clean yourself up."

"Yeah. I-I did. Thanks."

"Now, a final question-- and we ask everyone-- why did you choose to adopt?"

Kwak folded her hands and took a deep breath:

"I want to give. My home. My heart. My life. Everything I did was just, me, me, me. I want to guide my grief. But most of all, I want to care for someone the way nobody's cared for me."

The worker smiled slowly, yet her soft eyes glowed with tears.

"I appreciate your honesty, General."

"Why, thanks."

"Now, are you ready to meet Ambrose?"

"Am I ever?!" Kwak chuckled.

The worker stood and opened the door. A nurse handed Kwak a fat Caucasian baby. He felt heavy in her arms, pressing her skin deep into her bones. He had a round, pink face, topped by a froth of flame-red hair. His cheeks were plump and soft, curling into glossy blue-white eyes, a tiny curved nose, and pale-pink lips. He cooed brightly. He was blinking. He was.

Kwak smiled. A warm tear rolled down her cheek.

"Ambrose," she whispered, "I'll do anything for you! Anything!"

The baby looked up at her. She looked back. He froze. She shivered. His blue-white eyes rippled with shadows that starlight could never heal.