Milah is wearing a nightdress. The garment is too thin for the biting chill that has seeped into the cabin, so she pulls the blankets up around her chin. She watches Killian as he undresses. He takes off first his boots and then his coat, and his hook after that.
He places his hook on the shelf. Next to the hook is a little box he gave Milah a long time ago. She has never opened the box in front of him, but he knows it is important to her. His fingers ghost over the wood as he pulls his hand away from his hook.
"What is in that box that's so important?" asks Killian.
Milah shakes her head. But Killian doesn't see the gesture, so she says, "It's nothing."
Killian turns around. With a baleful grin, he says, "You expect me to believe that?"
"No," says Milah. She sits up and lets the blankets fall around her waist. She shifts toward the side of the bed, and Killian moves to sit next to her. Milah's hand is resting between them. Killian places his hand over hers and squeezes gently.
"My son," begins Milah. She can see Killian's jaw tense. "I abandoned him when I came with you. I think of him often, nearly every day. Sometimes I write letters to him, but I never send them. I think he must hate me by now. What good would a letter do?"
"So the box…" says Killian.
"I keep the letters in there. There must be over two dozen by now. Sometimes I have too much to say, sometimes too little. The thing is, I'm his mother and I abandoned him. What can I possibly say to make up for that?"
Milah's eyes are filled with tears. Killian is frozen in place. He has never heard Milah talk this much about her son before, and quite honestly it unnerves him. He wishes he could help in some way; but how does one comfort a mother?
"My son, my little Baelfire," whispers Milah. Her voice is full of agony.
"There there," says Killian.
It is a pathetic attempt at consolation, and he knows it. He reaches up and pats Milah's shoulder. She seems not to notice.
Milah begins to cry. She ducks her head and lets the tears drip down her nose and onto the blankets. She is utterly silent in her grief; she keeps her mouth tightly shut and lets not a single shuddering gasp pass her lips. Killian is thankful that she keeps her emotions under control, even now.
"He…" says Killian, trailing off. He hasn't the slightest idea what to say. He settles for a generic, "It's all right."
"I left him alone with his coward of a father," whispers Milah, "The poor boy hasn't a chance in the world."
"There, now. Dry your tears, love," says Killian.
Milah raises her head and looks at Killian. Her eyes are full of rage and bitterness, something Killian rarely sees in her.
"Don't you even pretend to know what it's like, losing your only child," spits Milah.
"Except you didn't lose him, now did you? You made that choice for youself," says Killian, harshly.
He can feel the snap of his words as they leave his mouth. He isn't surprised when Milah's hand comes up and smacks him across the face. But that doesn't stop him from feeling a familiar sense of anger bubble inside of himself. His cheek stings, and his pride stings even worse.
"You made the choice to come with me," he says in a low voice, "If you're having second thoughts, you're free to go anytime you like."
"You know I won't," says Milah.
Her eyes are narrowed in loathing. But still, her attachment to Killian is evident. She loves him but she hates him; it feels like that's the dynamic they've settled into lately. Killian wonders when that happened.
"Then stop acting like coming with me was such a horrible choice," says Killian.
He rises from the bed and dons his shoes once more. He cast his coat around his shoulders and fixes his hook onto his wrist. Milah watches and does nothing as he leaves the room, his frustration evident in his every step and every breath. It feels as though the cabin itself has absorbed the sudden animosity of its two occupants.
When Killian is gone, Milah slumps back against her pillow. She turns out the lantern next to the bed, plunging the cabin into darkness. She draws the blankets to her chin and stares at the ceiling as she waits for her eyes to adjust.
Milah does not feel like crying so much as she feels incredibly numb. Helpless, too. She chose to come with Killian of her own accord, and of course she had known back then that that meant giving up her son. But could she not have her son and the man she loved?
She turns on her side and tucks her knees into her chest. She stares at the wall, watching it become blurrier as her eyes fill with tears once more. They pour awkwardly across her face; they trickle down her nose and along her cheeks. Milah's heart feels like something is pulling it out, trying to rip it from her chest. She almost wishes that someone would.
What does it feel like, she wonders, to get your heart ripped out?