Throughout my first pregnancy, my mother was there for me. I think this was the final act of mercy our Master wished to bestow upon his favorite, the chance to see her young daughter's position solidified. As for me? I quite liked being with child.

    Lexia and my mother grew more and more doting as my belly became rounder. When in the early days of my pregnancy food would not stay in my stomach, Mama would offer me as many choice delicacies as I wished till something was tolerated, making certain I remained well nourished. Even the kitchen overseer began sneaking me treats from our Master's private reserve of sweets and the premium quality fruits he imported for his table.

    "Your young one needs to stay happy so it will remain content to stay inside and grow," Lexia said affectionately as she offered up a particularly fine piece chocolate she'd taken from her own stash of goodies.

    It was kind of her to offer such concern for my wellbeing. I knew that miscarriages in a first pregnancy meant certain death. Dulane did not permit unsuccessful breeders to live. But with Lexia and Mama by my side, I seldom felt real danger or fear. Instead, I relished the extra attention.

     When the baby grew big enough to impede my normal chores, Lexia was even willing to make accommodations for me in the kitchen. I would be allowed to sit at the table rather than remain on my feet, shelling boiled eggs or husking corn, small tasks the likes of which I had done as a young girl.

    But when my mother caught me talking to my unborn child in bed one night, as I'd taken to doing when I thought no one was looking, her expression was stone.

    "It's not your's," she admonished harshly. "You are only a vessel, Alice, and the more you grow attached the worse this will be."

    I was taken aback by the severity of her tone and expression. I knew what she said was the truth. I knew that very few were allowed to keep their offspring and that of the many children my mother had produced, I was the only known survivor. All had been raised by others from birth, their fates a mystery. I'd born witness to the lines of age etched deeper on her face with each child lost, her hair painted gray though she was only just in her third decade of life. But in my youthful naiveté, I didn't care.

    Though I vowed to Mama that I would do better, I continued to talk to the small life inside of me, delighting in the little kicks that pounded against the wall of my round belly from the inside. A child with so much energy, eager to break free and face the world. My baby was a part of me. Somehow, with the strength of the bond growing between us, every word of caution my mother drilled into me was meaningless.

——
   
As my due date drew nearer, Mama began to give away what few belongings she had to friends, saving her most prized possessions for me. I knew she was preparing for the end. Once my child was born, her time would likely be up. She was already thirty years old and Dulane had not had her mated for nearly two years, a clear sign that it was only a matter of time. But my mother never spoke of her impending death. She was one always focused on life. On doing as much as she could in the short time and limited circumstances fate had granted her. It made it easier for me to forget the danger.
    
I was still very much a child in many ways. A mature human yes, but one sheltered by our masters' favor. Though I listened to my mother's lessons carefully and graciously accepted her gifts, I didn't think much of their significance. The not so subtle message my mother was sending me. Time was running short.

    It was a cold spring morning when my body was struck with pain like I had never experienced before. My mother and I had only just made it to the kitchen when my stomach seized with a horrible cramp that nearly sent me to the ground.

    "It's time," Mama said, holding my arm to help me stay erect as another contraction wracked my body.
As Mama walked me to the breeding sheds, she shouted orders at the slaves she'd commanded to follow us. They ran ahead to prepare clean towels and water and retrieve Mama's birthing kit.

    Once inside, Mama did everything she could to make me comfortable. The thin mattress had already been covered in soft quilts to add more support. There were multiple pillows to prop me up and a soothing drink of herbs to calm my nerves and ease my pain.

    My mother had aided in births before and she would let no one else near me during my labor save to follow her commands exactly. She was patient and calm as she coached me through my pain, offering words of comfort and cool water to drink. When the pain became unbearable she allowed me to squeeze her hand so tight I was certain I would break it.

    Sweat pouring from my brow, the moment finally came and my mother told me I was ready. I watched the commotion of the women who gathered around my open legs, urging me on. Pressure like I'd never felt before filled me, giving me no choice but to obey their command and push. After seven hours of labor, my baby came bursting into the world.

    An exhausted sigh escaped my lips as the sound of the child's screams rang out, strong and clear. I smiled a smile of exhaustion and pure joy as I watched my mother and her helpers briskly clean the baby and cut the umbilical cord as it's small form wriggled and wailed.

    "A healthy boy," one of the women comment as they smiled back at me.

    My smile only grew as I waited expectantly waiting for them to show me my child, but it was not to be. I watched horrified as the woman holding my precious baby whisked his bundled form out the door, his cries unheeded.

    "Where are they taking him!" I cried out in desperation, forcing myself up from the pillows. My mother's hand was there to push me back down.

    "You have done well, Alice," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Rest now."

    "But my baby!" I tried again to rise from the bed. I had to at least see my child. I had to hold him. The little creature that had grown inside of me, that I had talked to and sang to whenever I could escape my mother's watchful eye. He was mine!

    "Be glad you birthed a boy," my mother answered, unsympathetically, a hand grasped firmly on my shoulder to hold me back. "His suffering will be ended quickly. Before he was born, the child was already condemned."

    Tears streamed down my cheeks at her words. I knew it was the truth, but in that moment I refused to accept it. How could I? I'd felt him grow. I'd heard his cries. How could it be that such life, such potential, was never meant to live?

    My mother gathered me in her arms, letting me pour my grief and rage onto her shoulder until I ceased to struggle, still desperate to chase after my son. When I had calmed myself enough to stop resisting, she bathed my still swollen body with a wet sponge and dressed me in a clean cotton shift before walking me back to our dorm where I was permitted to rest.

    "You must try to forget as soon as possible," she said, her tone without affect as she helped me to my own bed. "Show your Master your eagerness to serve and your contentment. Convince him you are happy with your lot and, perhaps, you will one day convince yourself."

    I hated my mother that night. She had never been particularly warm, but in my suffering, I was desperate for her love and sincere affection. I wanted her sympathy! But Mariana had birthed so many by then. Boys, girls. All were now long gone, save myself, consumed by the gluttonous sibla. She'd learned to accept. I was still too young to understand.

    As I lay in bed, I thought of my boy. The reports of his health were favorable my mother had told me before the lights were switched off. He was strong, of a good weight, and nicely formed. Already under the care of another, he was eating well. Market stock. My precious child was nothing more than meat.

    In my mind, I pictured the infants I'd seen bottle raised and then in our kitchen. Lifeless corpses stuffed with breadcrumbs and spices. Would I even know my own child if he appeared on the chopping block? The thought haunted me.