“I couldn’t love a motherless child.”
So said Catelyn Stark about the boy she thought was her husband’s bastard. Games of Thrones is my new background noise. But I don’t really understand. It’s so easy to love children, I think. Especially the three in my care.
Sometimes it might be easier if they were motherless. Everyone loves you if you love a child who has lost a mother. Nobody cares if you love a child who’s mother is still living. They’re supposed to be happy with what they’ve got. And you’re the intruder.
And it’s even harder when the children love you back. Because you feel guilty for doing something good.
I don’t know if their mother loves them or not. But I can’t not love them. I can’t not be there for them when she’s not. And even when she is. It’s not enough, and it’s too little, too late.
And even if she were the perfect mother, they deserve all the love they can get. And I will keep on giving them that love.
…no matter who tells me I can’t.