Chapter Text
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SANSA
“Mummy?”
Sansa peeked from the shower curtain and sees her three year-old son, Rory, stepped into the bathroom.
“Hi honey, I’ll be there soon, okay? Wait there, please,”
Rory stopped and waited patiently at the door sill, for his mother to rinse her long auburn hair in a rush and turn off the faucet. Sansa stepped out of the shower, toweling herself and wrapped her body with the grayish towel. She scoops her son from the floor and landed a kiss on his rosy cheek.
“You hungry, honey?”
‘’ungry!” her son chimed in.
Still wearing her towel and with her hair damp clinging to her scalp, Sansa opened the fridge and take out a pot of leftover soup from last night. She put Rory in his baby chair and started to heat up the soup. The leftover is not much, barely made to fill Rory’s cup, but it contained potatoes, leek, carrots and some beef. Enough to fill her son’s stomach tonight.
As she helped her toddler son to his soup—making sure it is in the right temperature—she smiled at him, stroking his auburn locks. She will need to do grocery shopping tomorrow, she sighed. Rory has learned to use the spoon to feed himself, so after the toddler start to eat, she reached for her purse. Her money is now down to twenty dollars and some coins. She sighed again.
Living in the Reach has been difficult; the rent is expensive and although Rory’s father had been taking care of them, Sansa feels she will need to look for work if she wants to truly free of Loras’ family. Mrs Tyrell—Loras’ grandmother and matriarch of the powerful family—had let her knew that if she chose to keep Rory she will need to managed how ends meet herself. The Tyrells won’t let her have a penny, since she signed a prenuptial agreement before her wedding to Loras. Not that it mattered; she married the man for love, not money.
“Give Rory to Loras and let his father raised his son as the family heir, and we will let you walk away with one million dollar, right now. You will find another one millioin next year, and the following year, until Rory is twenty one year-old,” the old lady had said before the divorce was finalized. “Or, you may bring Rory and let Loras has parental visit every now and then, but we will give you naught.”
Sansa remembered every words the matriarch had been said. Every threat, every mock. She offered me to give up Rory for twenty one million dollars, she thought bitterly, looking at her son enjoying his supper. And I choose my son. Here they are now, she trying to put food on the table while working part time and raising her son as single parent. After living a life like lady most of her life, the reality hits her hard. She had come from a wealthy family herself, but she had left them behind in the north to come to the Reach with Loras. Ever since her parents died some time again, she understand her brothers—Robb and Jon—have run their family business and supporting their younger siblings, Arya away in Braavos (and she knew studying abroad is not cheap), Bran and Rickon still in high school. She has taken no part in the family business, so she knew it is very out of place for her to ask her brothers for help. They will gladly help her; of course, she has no doubt about it. She just doesn’t feel comfortable nagging them.
So Sansa took her maiden last name again, moved out the Tyrell mansion with Rory (at that time still a one year old infant), and rent a small apartment she can afford. Loras has been sending them money behind his grandmother’s back (or within her acknowledgement, Sansa does not care) but the money is not much. It keeps them going to buy food and pay rent, but a modest one. And she knew she will need to pay for Rory’s daycare and tuition fees if she ever go back to work full time, so she saves half of the money Loras sent. It left them little--combined with her salary and tips from waiting tables.
“Look, Mommy.” Rory pointed his wet finger to the television. “Daddy,” It was news about the Tyrell family. Loras’s handsome face sprung onto the screen, talking about the company’s newest addition to biogenetic division or something. Sansa bit the sadness away that crept every time she saw her ex-husband’s face. They have been divorced for two years now. At least the news is not about Loras’s new girlfriend, who comes up frequently, more frequent than Loras using his parental visit to see Rory.
“Finish your soup, darling, and then we go to sleep.” She said, turning off the tv.
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After dropping Rory at Mrs Mordane’s—her kind neighbor whom always happy to take care of Rory—Sansa rushed to the bus stop, her shopping list at hand. There will be not much to buy, since she only has twenty dollars and almost none in her bank account. Loras usually wired them money at the end of the month, and it will be a week away before he sends any money. Today is her day off and she will need to look for more better paying job after she completes her grocery shopping.
Gods, I really do need to work full time if I want to send Rory to the best school, she thought worryingly. She counted how much money she need to safe for her son’s tuition, when she remembered why she enlist the kind Mrs Mordane’s help—because she cannot even afford daycare for Rory, that’s why she still work part time. Mrs Mordane cannot watch Rory 8 hours a day for five days a week, and hiring babysitter is too expensive. Everyhing in this city is too expensive, she thought sadly.
She is lost in thoughts as she walked aimlessly among the shelves of cereal, when a familiar voice called to her.
“Sansa! Sansa Tyrell?”
She almost forgot that once in her life she was Sansa Tyrell.
“It is Sansa Stark, again, now.” She smiled at the familiar face of Petyr Baelish—her parent’s friend from the past. They embraced. “Hello, Mr Baelish.”
“Well hello to you, dearest,” the man smiled broader as they let go of their embrace. “Please forgive this old man’s memory… I forgot you no longer used your husband’s name.”
“Ex-husband, remember,” she chuckled.
He tsk-ed and they resumed their walk strolling the cereal aisle. “What brings you here; you are far away from Vale, Mr Baelish.”
“Ah, just some business. I will be back to Vale tomorrow. How are you, Sansa? Rory?”
“We are doing fine, thank you.”
Petyr Baelish stared at her longer than usual, and suddenly Sansa feel ashamed of her being. She has not brushed her hair when she left—she even carelessly put her long hair into a messy bun, and she wears her rag jeans and a simple blouse. She remembered it is the blue blouse with stains she forgot to wash days earlier. She has not put up any makeup, and not even using skincare since her divorce. She looks like a walking mess.
Oh Gods.
“Tell me, my dear, do you keep in contacts with your brothers?” finally Mr Baelish averted his eyes and locked it intently to some cereal box in the shelf.
“Uhh, not in a long time, to be honest. They are busy with work, and I am busy…” she trailed off weakly, not knowing how to make excuses whilst hoping Mr Baelish does not realize her situation. “How is aunt Lysa?” she remembered her mother’s younger sister who happened to be Petyr Baelish’s wife.
“Oh, she’s fine, she’s fine,” the older man smiled and wave dismissively, “by the way, Sansa, speaking of my wife...” he stared at her wandering, “she is looking for a personal assistant, you know? I wonder if you are interested to work for her. Vale is nearer to the North and you can come home anytime you want. But, I do understand if you are happy here and…”
“No, I do, of course, I think working for you and aunt Lysa will be wonderful,” she said hurriedly. “Well of course, if…”
“The salary is good, and we will prepare accommodation for you and Rory. If he needs daycare, I will personally look into it.” Her uncle-in-law cut her off. “I heard Lysa is willing to pay much more than usual,” he winked.
She could not believe her ears. Finally, her chance to get out from the Reach, and away from Loras’s family.
“I… I don’t know how to thank you…” she was out of breath. “Thank you, Mr Baelish. I really appreciate it…”
“No need, my dear. But I will insist that you can call me Uncle Petyr now. Don’t be too formal,”
The older man smelled of mint and something sweet like cinnamon. When Mr Baelish—Uncle Petyr—pulled her for a hug outside the supermarket, she shivered. She remembered why she never feels comfortable around him, but brushed it away. She needs this. She needs a decent well paid job to support Rory, to give her son a better life.
So she nodded and thanked Petyr Baelish once again when the man offered to arranged her and Rory’s one way tickets to the Vale.