Over the next few months, as the children got older and started asking more questions — though it was mostly Mila — the selkie began telling them about little bits of her life: About her family in the sea. About her life before this. And about how her pelt had been stolen.

She gave them bite-sized summaries of these tales — one: because they were still children and she thought that would be all they could understand, and, two: because she couldn't linger for too long on those memories before she broke down and fell into a depressive spiral for the next few weeks.

(She fell into depressive episodes even without inviting such triggers anyway, so she saw no reason to make it worse for herself. She couldn't remember the last time she wasn't melancholy or at least mildly, constantly depressed. And she did not remember what joy or happiness felt like anymore. The selkie even began wondering whether she had simply never felt happy at all — even before her pelt had been stolen...For, she really could not recall what joy had felt like.)

However, the children apparently picked up on more than she gave them credit for...

And acted on it. 

Because one day, her captor burst in and faced her, looking genuinely upset:

"How could you tell our children you're a prisoner here?!"

She should have taken pleasure in his misery. But she was too taken by surprise. "Why wouldn't I?" she asked, wondering why he would believe she wouldn't tell anyone the truth.

The only reason she hadn't run away and told other humans about it was because the human species' xenophobia was well-known among all  fey creatures. So she simply presumed that any human would take her captor's side over hers. And having one  jailor was any day better than having a fleet of them.

"They think I'm your kidnapper!"

Her eyes narrowed in both confusion and contempt. "You are."

His face fell into a broken expression again. "But I love you!"

For a second, she was speechless. And then she laughed hysterically.

"Love? Your love is nothing but poison!"

"We have children together!"

"Because you promised to give me back my pelt if I did!"

Since she was facing him and, thereby, also facing the door, she did absently notice the three children peeking through, standing just at the threshold with wide eyes.

(There was a tiny, tiny, tiny, minuscule part of her that was guilty for saying such things where the children could hear it. Not about their father, of course. Oh no. She wouldn't cover for him. But...she wished that they had not heard how much she did not want them...)

"What kind of woman are you?!" he yelled next, gripping his hair like he was at his wits' end. She hoped he pulled his hair out.

"Not a human woman!" she snapped back. "A selkie  woman! Someone you stole!"

"At least think of our children!"

"They are not my children, they are yours!" she roared back, her voice almost cracking under the strain. But she would not and could not stop. "I only had them because you lied !  I had no choice! I already have  children! I already have a partner! And you stole them from me, you worthless excuse of flesh !"

Her hands were shaped like claws, ready to attack. And he must have noticed, because he suddenly looked back at the children — meaning that he too likely knew they'd been there the whole time.

"If I give the pelt back, she'll leave!" he said desperately, moving towards them and pulling them all the way inside, off the threshold. "Do you understand? You won't have a mother anymore if I give it back!"

"No, she won't," countered Calder immediately, in his high childish voice.

"Yes, she will. She'll leave. She'll leave all of us. She'll leave you," her captor told him, kneeling down and taking his hands. And Calder faltered.

Calder looked at her hesitantly. "You'll stay with us..."

"Won't you?" asked Dylan, wringing his hands, eyes already full.

And...she couldn't...she couldn't lie to them.

"No. I will leave," she told them quietly, the anger draining from her and leaving her numbly hollow.

"But why ?" Calder demanded, face scrunching up in hurt. "Stay with us."

"I have my family in the sea. I have my children in the sea. I have to leave." Her voice was toneless, dead. She was so, so tired...

Calder and Dylan ran up to her.

"They can stay with us," said Dylan, clutching at her skirt. "More brothers and sisters."

"Yes, we can all stay together!" Calder declared, blinking back tears. "Your family in the sea! And us!"

"They can't live outside the sea. They can't live on land."

"You  do!" Calder pointed out defiantly.

"I was stolen," she repeated. "Land is not my home. The sea is my home. The oceans are my home." Her voice cracked a bit. "I don't belong here."

Calder began crying as well. "No. No. Then — Then we'll all live in the sea! I like the sea!"

"Me too," wept Dylan, clutching onto her like he could stop her from leaving if he held on hard enough. "I like the sea too!"

She could feel her heart breaking, drowning in remorse for having these children in the first place just to put them through this.

"I am a selkie. My family are all selkies. You are all human. And humans can't live in the sea. Humans will die in the sea."

"Don't go!" wailed Dylan, clutching her tighter.

"We'll tell Pa to give you your pelt. So please don't go!" bargained Calder desperately, clutching at her as well.

She closed her eyes for a moment to block it all out and ground herself.

"I'm sorry..." she said quietly, "But I want to go home."

Calder released her and stepped back, despair turning into anger quick as a flash. "Pa's right! We'll never give the pelt back! You'll stay here!"

The exhaustion snapped away, replaced by an instant red-hot tower of rage. She moved before she even realized what she was doing.

"Kaja!"

"Ma!"

"No!"

That last voice made her freeze, by virtue of her not having heard it throughout this whole fiasco, and thus surprising her. Blinking away the red veil of rage, she came to see Mila standing in front of her brothers, with her arms crossed in front of her face, shielding...shielding them and herself from a blow...

And that's when the selkie realized that she had picked up a bowl nearby, that she'd raised it and moved forward, to throw it at Calder or to hit him with it...like she usually attacked her captor.

Shaking inwardly at her loss of control, she placed the bowl back down and turned away from them all, walking further into the room to put some distance between them.

She understood why that had happened: In that moment, when Calder had so easily implied that he would trap her too, she had not seen him, but her captor. She had forgotten who he was, his age, his childishness, and she had only seen her captor.

She understood the possessiveness of a child, especially towards their parents and the people they had grown up with. She understood that Calder had said that out of grief and fear of loss, that his emotions had been too intense for his little body and that he had simply reacted to them, as all children would have.

She understood that — while she would never label it as love or need from their father who had kidnapped her and trapped her — Calder, a child who saw her as a constant presence despite her distant behavior, simply could not deal with the possibility of losing her.

What shook her, though, was her reaction. 

Never, in all her years as a selkie and a mother, had she lost control like that with any child...She had never before reached a point where she had tried to physically attack them with a weapon...wanting to make them hurt...forgetting that she was dealing with a child...

"Take your children away from me," she said, tone strangely even, despite the fact that she felt like she was shaking to pieces inside.

Luckily, she must have spooked her captor sufficiently enough. For he immediately ushered them away to leave her alone, shushing them gently as the boys continued to cry.

She glanced back despite herself, just before they disappeared from the room. And she saw Mila looking at her with an expression she could not decipher.

It was colder than anything she would have ever expected a child's face to wear.

She turned away from that gaze before the door even closed behind them, overwhelmed, ashamed, and, once again, completely alone.