I have Haruno Sakura feels. But then again, what else is new.

My Wife is not a Weak Woman

by hashtagartistlife

Mama is a strong woman.

Sarada remembers her mother coming home with blood on her hands. The metallic scent of the liquid mingles with the milder fragrance of the hospital disinfectant, envelops mama like a second skin. No matter how many times she washes them, the blood lingers, Sarada knows - like the metaphorical Lady Macbeth,out, damn'd spot. On particular nights, mama washes and washes and washes her hands ten, twenty times - she stills at the sink, shoulders heaving, sharp breaths catching in her throat. She stays that way for a few minutes, then she turns around and smiles at her, asking what she would like for dinner, what story she'd like told at bedtime today.

There is always a funeral soon after those days. Mama carries the bloodstains of those she couldn't save, etched into the muscle and bone under her clean skin. The weight of a hundred lost souls are borne on her narrow shoulders; she walks tall still.

Mama is a strong woman.

She is not an idiot, but then again, adults had an odd knack for thinking that children were born blind and deaf and incurious. Sarada hears the whispers all around her, relentless since she has been able to walk and talk - whispers of abandonment, poor woman, and all for a criminal too. She is mentioned occasionally - the child is such a charming girl, though, Sakura-san must have brought her up properly, she's better off without such a father - but it is mama they have an interest in, mama they talk about. I empathise with her situation, of course, but really…. to choose such a man in the end, I don't know what else she was expecting.

Sarada balls her fists and greets them politely. She knows if she retaliates, they will add her to their neverending list of things Uchiha Sakura should have expected.

Mama is a strong woman.

Once, after a particularly terrible thunderstorm, Aunt Ino's house had collapsed, taking her with it. Uncle Sai and Inojin had been frantic, had shown up on their doorstep drenched in rain - neither of their jutsus were appropriate for dealing with this kind of damage, especially in this kind of weather. Sarada had seen her mama turn white as a sheet, had seen her run out barefoot in one of the worst storms ever seen on Fire Country soil. She dug through the rubble singlehandedly, screaming Aunt Ino's name all the while. Ino. Ino. Ino-pig. Answer me.The concrete blocks of the house were reduced to dust before her mother's anguish.

When she found Aunt Ino, those hands - dealing destruction and ruin just moments ago - turned gentle, soft as they covered the gaping wound on Aunt Ino's shoulder. Mama cradled Aunt Ino in her lap, her entire body glowing with green chakra, the wreckage of the storm not nearly matching the destruction wrought by her.

My wife is not a weak woman.

Sarada looks her father in the eye, and thinks –

I knew that already.