I once asked my mother how she did it, how she gave up her only child to the White Lotus. She told me that for a long time, she did not want to. She kept me a secret even when the White Lotus' first representatives came to visit our village. My father disliked our lies and secrecy, but my mother was adamant. She would not give up her daughter. So I asked her what changed.

She told me that one day she slumbered long and fitfully, and that she dreamt of a world without its Avatar. What she saw in that dream, she has never told me, but my mother said it scared her. It scared her enough that she could keep me a secret no longer, though she knew what it would mean. She had to decide between her own heart and desires, and the needs of the world. The latter outweighed the former, she said, and so she gave the world its Avatar.

In exchange for her sacrifice was years of pain, bitterness, and a marriage that threatened to dissolve. I remember asking how she kept it all together, how she stayed strong enough to press on, day by day. My mother told me she managed it only because she loved me. Though she didn't know how long it would take, she knew that one day she would be reunited with me. I was the light at the end of her tunnel. That blessed day that she foresaw was all that my mother strived to see; I promise I didn't know I had made, but one I kept.

I think of all this as I look down at my daughter. She's sitting in my lap facing me, her hands gripping a small toy that she seeks to explore with her mouth. I have my own hands underneath her armpits, keeping her steady. She makes muffled noises as I lightly bounce my knees, often removing the toy from her mouth to babble unhindered.

"Ba ba ba…"

I sigh. Today is the day, but for her today is just like any other. She wakes and knows that when she complains, she will first hear her mother's voice and then see her, and I will pick her up and comfort her. That is what has happened for almost every single day of her life. She has come to expect it as the norm. But it will be different tomorrow.

"You and I need to have a little talk, sweetie," I say as she looks up at me.

"Ba ba ba," she replies, shaking the toy in the air as I smile.

"Mommy is a very special and important person called the Avatar," I say, "and she has a responsibility to help people all over the world."

My daughter, after having intently watched my lips move, gurgles as though in reply when I give pause.

"Daddy helps people too, but he works here in the city. So, when he is finished, he can come back home and see you," I continue. "Mommy works here as well, but sometimes she has to go far away to do special work. That means you won't see her every day," I tell my daughter, who seems to have discovered a new angle at which to explore the toy. "I won't be here tomorrow, sweetie, when you wake up. I can't hold you or play with you, because I'll be far away."

I frown as I watch her. A part of me wonders why I'm bothering with this. She is listening to me, I know, but I also know my words mean little to her. What's important to her is that she can see me, touch me and cry for me, knowing that I'll come to her. All that matters is that her mother, who keeps her safe, who feeds her when she's hungry, who makes her smile and laugh and is there the moment she calls, is here right now in front of her. But soon, I won't be. Soon she'll cry and I won't come.

It's that simple idea that I can't push to back of my mind, that my little girl will call for me and I won't be there to answer. What will she think of me? How will she feel? Will I be able to last a single day away from her, knowing that she'll be crying out her lungs for her mother to come back? And here she sits now, so innocent and oblivious. I have been the one constant in her life since the moment she first opened her eyes. She has depended on me so completely and now, suddenly, I will be gone. I don't want to imagine how that will feel for her, but it's the one thought that circles my mind again and again. But I have to be strong, like my own mother. Even if my little girl does not, I know that I will come back to her.

"I love you," I say. "I love you more than anything else in this world, darling. And even when I'm gone and you don't understand why, remember this." I place the tip of my finger above her heart, and she looks down at it. "I'm always with you, here," I tell her.

"Mama," she says, returning the toy to her mouth.

I'll find it funny later on how calm I am upon hearing this. I am well attuned to her babbling, and the sounds she commonly makes are 'ba ba' and sometimes 'ya ya'. This is the first time I've heard 'ma ma'. Thinking sensibly, this is likely just more babbling on her part. A happy coincidence as she expands her vocabulary. But I think I'm allowed, just this once, to pretend that it isn't. So there are beads of moisture at the corners of my eyes as I lean forward and kiss her brow, afterwards lightly resting mine against it. I smile as she gurgles, her hand finding my cheek.

"I'm going to miss you," I murmur softly.

I pick her up and settle her against my hip as I stand, taking a deep breath as I turn to the doorway of the living room. Mako is standing there, arms folded as he leans against the frame. He isn't smiling. He isn't happy about this at all. Neither am I, honey. Neither am I.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice toneless.

I nod. "Mm."

I hand our daughter over to him and take the car keys he offers me in exchange. I steel myself as I meet and hold his gaze. He wants to say something, and I know exactly the words that would fall from his lips. But he stays silent. There is no changing my mind now. The choice is made, and there's no swaying me when I decide to go through with it. If there is a characteristic that defines me, it's that I do not go back on my word. No doubt, the Earth King underestimated this about me.

I promised him, with good grace and courtesy I might add, that there would be hell to pay if I had to set foot in his kingdom.