M called on the eighth of January, wishing Vesper a Happy New Year before getting down to the important business of informing her that there was a position opening up at the beginning of March at JPMorgan Chase.

"It's in Accounts Receivable in Treasury Services, so I'm afraid it's a bit more mundane than your previous position," M told her that afternoon, "but you're more than qualified and I've already given them your name and references. The position's all but yours, if you're up for it."

Vesper sighed deeply. M was right; Vesper had spent years in Accounts Receivable before she'd been hired at the Treasury. This position was right up her alley, and would be more than adequate to fund her lifestyle here. She'd finally be able to pay her own rent, and to provide for her son and pay Christina out of her own salary.

But in the beginning of March Henry would still only be ten months old, still in need of his mother's care. She'd have to wean him before then, which she knew might be a bit of a struggle. It would be strange, finally being separated from him, that last connection cut, her body finally her own again.

She had to admit it would be freeing, to not be tied down anymore by her son's incessant feedings, to be able to go out for hours and not have to deal with the embarrassing leaks and painful fullness in her breasts.

But she was hesitant to sever that connection, that tie they had to each other. She loved that time with him, that silent bonding that took place. She didn't want to lose that, didn't want to be away from him any more than she had to be.

But M was waiting for her answer, waiting as she had done for the several months Vesper was not ready to work. And she knew this was a golden opportunity. So many people in this city strove to get that high, to be up near the top, to make enough money to provide for their families. And most of them didn't have the luxury of a ten-month parental leave, to have their bills and rent paid for them.

She had to admit she'd been spoiled here by M. Sure, it was repayment for what had happened in Venice, and, she supposed, for keeping Henry and Vesper away from James, but the truth was M had been indulging her. Vesper had been pampered, almost; she had been allowed to enjoy her son's first few important months in this great flat, with Christina to help.

She sighed, heavily.

"I'll take it," she told M.

Ω

Her first day went rather well, considering. Henry gave a bit of a fuss in the morning when she left, but she kissed his little head and wished him goodbye, knowing Christina would manage to quiet his tears. She pushed back that instinctual, visceral pain on being separated from him, that crushing guilt that his cries managed to evoke.

She stood in the corridor outside their door listening to her son wail, breathing deeply, the same way she'd done back in London, and finally he quieted inside the flat.

She straightened her clothing, her new tailored suit, and slung her expensive bag over her shoulder. She headed off down the corridor, her new heels clacking on the marble floor.

It was amazing how simply dressing the part did most of the work of putting her in that professional mindset again. As she left the flat, climbing into the car that was waiting for her, she felt her anxieties begin to subside. And as the car pulled away, and she watched the people and buildings rush past her window, she began to even anticipate the day.

Christina and Henry would be fine, that she knew. The girl had a way with him that even Vesper sometimes did not, as she could calm some of his most awful tantrums. She was young and imaginative, and Vesper had absolutely no reason to worry.

His weaning had taken much less time and heartbreak than she had thought it would, and after a week he was completely adjusted to solid foods. Her breasts ached for a while, but the milk soon dried up, and like that they were severed.

She had shed a few tears over it, over the loss of that time they'd had together, that bonding experience, but then there had been the new drama of feeding time, struggling with getting the semi-solid baby food into her son's mouth.

He was ten months old now, still crawling and now starting to use tables and chairs to pull himself up to standing. He would be walking soon, no longer the infant she had cradled and rocked, but a full-fledged, energetic toddler.

The car pulled up to her destination on Park Avenue and she got out, joining the dozens of other similarly-dressed professionals milling about the sidewalk. The car drove away and she looked around at the people walking past, in their expensive tailored suits and posh Italian loafers, the cups of high-priced coffee clutched in their hands; the type of people she was well familiar with from her position at the Treasury.

And suddenly it switched on, just like that, that desire to work and succeed, to impress superiors, to feel like a productive member of society. She had been good at her job, had enjoyed succeeding at it, at climbing the ladder and making a living for herself, and she supposed, that part of her had never gone away. She could be both mother and career woman.

She entered the building.

Ω

She was surprised how quickly time began to pass, once she was oriented at her new job, and Henry and Christina began to adjust to her new schedule. M was right, she was perfect for this position, and she had to admit it was nice to be back amongst adults again. She missed her son, yes, but kept in touch with Christina throughout the day.

Occasionally, she'd bring Henry in to meet for lunch in the park, like they used to do. The weather was warming up quite quickly, the snow all but gone, and spring was starting to bloom.

Soon Henry was eleven months old and took his first steps one day while she was in a meeting. Vesper took the call from Christina, stealing away to the bathroom to cry a few quick tears.

But then she met the two of them for lunch, and he gave her a display of his new skill on the green grass of Central Park. She wiped her tears and kissed her son goodbye, and headed back to work.

Such was the life of a single, working mother.

Ω

The twenty-fourth of April came as dreary as it had been bright the day her son was born. He was standing in his cot waiting for her when she woke that morning, his round eyes bright and his blond hair tousled. It was getting a little long, sticking this way and that, and she smoothed it down and kissed his head.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," she whispered to him, lifting him from the cot and hugging his growing body against her. She could not believe it had been a year since that day, since she had welcomed him into the world in their tiny bathroom back in Croydon.

His had been a perfect, serene birth, and, as she thought back on it and those few hours afterwards, as she got to know him for the first time, she missed his babyhood so desperately. A deep sadness squeezed at her heart, at the thought that he would never be that small again. She hugged him firmly against her, letting a few tears fall.

But, predictably, he started to squirm and she reluctantly put him down gently on his feet. He quickly ran out of the room, and she could not help but smile at his little body toddling out into the corridor. No, he would never be a baby again, but he would still need her, still cry for her when he was hurt. She would be his mother forever, no matter how old or tall he grew.

She sighed, wiping away the tears, and followed her little boy out of his room.