AN: I really like this one.
Politically speaking, she could be called the first lady of the clan, but the title always held this sense of aristocracy she never did appreciate.
She was a woman of subtlety and grace who did what her husband told her and kept house like any well trained dog. Her children were disciplined and mannered, patient and understanding. She fed them, bathed them, clothed them and sent them off to school.
Alone in her home, though it never felt as warm as a home should, she kept quiet. Running errands and buying food killed at least three hours of her day, then left her with the humdrum of silence once she returned. She would start on dinner, knowing her husband would be expecting it when he walked in. He would be late of course, and she would eventually wrap it up and leave it in the oven for him.
Her children would come home, the youngest trotting in happily with a smile on his face and a hug for his dear mother. Her oldest would drag himself in, bone-tired and ragged as he made his way to his room.
She would return to her kitchen, fix her youngest his dish and another for his brother. She would walk down the hall, gently knock on his door and walk in towards his desk. He would be locking up his gear in the chest in his closet, always cognizant of the little one padding in and out.
She would give him a smile and place his food on his desk then leave him. She ached to touch him, to hold him in her arms. But her husband frowned upon the affection, scolding her about how it disrupted his foundation.
And being the obedient wife she was, her hands never left her sides.
But she was allowed the small consolation of being tender towards her youngest. The boy was still small, but as caring and loving as any child a mother could ask for.
Lately though, he had been keeping in his brother's footsteps. Sitting on the couch with a movie playing, she'd have to resort to trickery to get her child to come close to her. Hogging the popcorn bowl in her lap got him nestling in her side, head resting above her breast.
It lasted for a while, until her husband finally made his way home.
Some nights he would be agitated, this night, he was drunk.
"Turn that garbage off and get to bed."
Her small son would look to his father with a questioning gaze. He'd start with a, 'but it's only eight o'clock.' It was always met with a deadly glare.
He scurried to his room, leaving his mother to fend for herself.
"I expect discipline in this house."
He'd grumble and shrug her hand off his shoulder, shuffling towards their shared bedroom.
Their lovemaking would be painful for her. He, in his drunken anger, would tear off her housedress and apron and drop her on her back. He fumbled with his belt and didn't bother with his socks.
His breath was hot and tangy as it fell to her face, and his sloppy motions went unmentioned. She lay on her back, faking and allowing him the victory of his conquest.
He would eventually fall asleep beside her; his back to her and snores louder than a chainsaw. She would dress herself and slip back in to bed, assuming the position she favored when she knew she was sharing her bed with a stranger.
And the funny thing was, she woke up the next morning like nothing had happened.
She dressed herself, prepared her children's lunches, woke them, fed them, dressed them and sent them out the door.
She woke her husband, handed him his attire and food and nodded as he grunted something akin to a thanks.
And when she closed the door to her house, listened to the silence of her walls, she turned around and reached for her broom.
As the first-lady of the clan, she had duties to fulfill.
Even if it meant stepping on her heart to do so.
Hope you all liked it as much as I did. The next chapter may be up in time, I just don't know when I'll get around to it. :)