Weyward

by Emilia Hart

I did not know birthing babies was something humans did, too. I took my own existence for granted, and it was only after watching Daniel’s mother push him out of her body that I learned my mother had made me with a man and pulled me from her like a root from the earth. I never found out who the man was. She refused to tell me. “That is not our way,” she’d said. She hadn’t known her own father either, she told me later.