Shield Maiden
It was never going to be me.
He has chosen her as his shield maiden.
She wears his necklace without fail, the one he let me wear a time or two but never gave. She keeps it on, a notice to the world that she belongs to him (in a way I never could).
Her ease around him makes me smile. She puts her arms around him, touching his bare skin with her small hands. She walks up behind him and lovingly rubs his shoulders, and he relaxes into her touch. I realize that I touch him as a child does, seeking comfort from a grown-up (that’s why I call him Daddy); she touches him as a lover does, with the intent to both give and receive.
I watch her play with our children, stacking blocks with the baby, patiently answering as her name is called in tiny voices again and again. She laughs with July, unbothered by his odd ways of communicating; she answers Little B’s questions without the accompanying sigh I often use. She hugs the girls, Miss Rain and Miss Li, as many times as they want — no overstimulation, no tenseness in her voice telling them that it’s not their fault but she doesn’t want to be touched right now, like I so often do in the evenings.
I seclude myself in my room as she happily picks up Baby Bug, swaying with the babbling one-year-old on her hip, wearing a beaming smile that I haven’t conjured for a…
