Bulgaria, winter of 1490

Through my tears and cries, I try to see it. Is it a girl? A boy? I have always imagined him as a little baby boy. Mother, so kind and loving, holds him at such an angle that I cannot see over the mound of crisp sheets around me. I crane my neck, trying to see through all the tears of hurt and happiness that I have.

"It's a girl." Abigail tells me what I wish to know. She stands in the corner, away from everything, but still close to the scene. Abigail is a kind lady, and next to Mother, Father and my new child, she is the one I love most.

My eyes widen at the possible truth, "A girl. Please mother… let me see her."

I reach out my slender arms, eager to hold my daughter for the first time, as Mother comes a few steps closer to the bed that I lay on in the musty room.

"Woman, don't. What are you doing?" Father barks at my mother from the wooden doorway, making her turn away from me automatically.

Father is more of a heavyset man, though not from laziness. He is strong; there are more muscles are in his body than any outsider could guess. Though strict most of the time, and always forceful, he can be mild in his own way, though it is rare and only on occasions where he has had an easy day of hunting. Mother is fair and gentle with everything. She is quiet around the house, behaving as a woman should. She mends and cooks, brews ale and gardens. The servants help most everything; tending the animals, cleaning, and even Mother's chores when she needs help.

I feel my eager expression crumble, replaced with one of desperateness, as I register the words. "Let me at least hold her once, Father! Just once… at least once." I plead, to hold my daughter at least one time, like every mother should be able to do.

Father looks sharply at me. "Forget it… you have disgraced this family!" He lifts my baby girl from Mother's arms and, without even a glance back, walks through the door, ready to give his granddaughter away to some stranger, just like she is an outsider's baby, not mine.

Tears stream down my face as I claw my way out of the tangled mess of sheets to get to my child. "Father, please! No, Father…. No!" I cry, filled with a horrible feeling of angst.

Mother rushes to my bedside, tears running down her face also, and gently pushes me back into the beige sheets, holding me back, as I squirm and yank at her tight grip, from my newborn. "NO! No, Katerina. It's better for her! It's better for her!"

Antagonized, I struggle a bit more with Mother, knowing that I won't be able to change either of their minds, however. "No, mother, please!" I sob.

Slowly, my angst wears off, and I am left with a dull, hollow feeling in my chest as I grip Mother in a tight, fierce hug, my face buried in her shoulder.

"Let her go… let her go, Katerina."

"Please, Mama…" I whisper, as one last attempt to make her rethink their decisions and let me be with my darling baby girl, who I am likely to never see again.

- Later on -

The tears of sorrow and pain that I had have long dried by the time Father returns. I look away, still, however, unable to endure the unbearable pain that I feel for my child, and the guilt that I feel for myself for letting them take her away.

I should have put up more of a fight, if possible. I should have convinced them long ago to let her grow up in the house that I did, to not hide the awful truth from our friends and family, to let me keep my child and raise her myself. But I did not do any of these things to stop the sequence of events that had just gone on, and so I have to face the consequences and burdens for my actions, just like any soul does.

Father turns to face me, his face quite serious and determined. Mother stands behind him, for no matter how strict he is, or how he treats us, she defends him out of fear and, still, unconditional love.

"Katerina," he looks at me with a mixture of sadness and remorse, "as you likely know, you have shamed this family with your absurd actions."

"I know, Father, and I am remorseful for all the trouble I have caused." I bow my head, knowing what will be thrown upon me next. Clasping my hands tightly, I slowly raise my head to meet his gaze as he prepares to say those dreadful words that no rightful person wants to hear.

Father looks at me for the last time, as does Mother, when they finally speak their previous thoughts out loud, for my ears to hear this time. Father, dear, loving, strict Father, says, "Regardless, you shall have some time to think about your actions on your own time. Thus, we disown you from this family. "