Warning: Mentions death.

***

Twelve years ago:

Talia stared at the woman lying in the coffin. She knew it was her mother, yet it wasn't. Not anymore. She was still in shock, the awful truth hadn't settled in yet. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and glanced over. It was Mrs. Crenshaw. The older woman had promised Talia's mother that she would keep her daughter safe and well fed until she was older enough to look after herself.

Talia just stared, glassy eyed at the woman, her mind complete mush at the moment. She couldn't have put together a sentence if she tried. Mrs. Crenshaw led Talia away, steering the girl down the wooden steps and out towards the street. Neither of them uttered a word.

When they arrived back at the small, modest house, which was tucked in between a row of similar houses, on the poorer side of London, Talia's emotions struck her down and the poor girl crumbled upon the floor, sobbing. Mrs. Crenshaw simply grabbed a chair, dragging it close to where Talia laid and plopped her wide backside into the seat, occasionally leaning over, patting the girl's shoulder until her sobs subsided.

****

"You know I'm not a rich woman," Mrs. Crenshaw said to Talia as they sat down to a simple dinner of homemade stew and bread. "But I'll provide for you as best I can."

Talia nodded, guilt worming its way inside her gut. She hated to impose on Mrs. Crenshaw, however, it was accept the kindly older woman's hospitality or go live in one of the workhouses. Just the very thought made Talia quake with fear. She knew several people who'd been forced to go there. Many of them would have rather died than be forced to go reside in such a bleak place.

"I know you're excellent with a needle and thread," Mrs. Crenshaw was still speaking and Talia realized she'd probably missed half of the conversation, by allowing her grief filled mind to wander.

"Yes," Talia murmured, taking a tiny bite of the stew. It wasn't pleasant, but it was better than nothing. Mrs. Crenshaw wasn't a particularly good cook, but Talia wasn't in any position to complain. At least she had a warm place to sleep at night and was relatively safe. Unless of course, she died from Mrs. Crenshaw's dreadful cooking. Perhaps Talia should volunteer to cook.

"That's good. We will need every piece of money we can get." Talia gave the woman a weak smile and Mrs. Crenshaw patted Talia's hand.

"Tomorrow morning we'll go out and put up an advisement at the employment office," Mrs. Crenshaw said, keeping her tone cheery. Talia gave her a tight lipped, forced smile. She knew the woman meant well. However, right now, all Talia wanted some silence.

***

It was late. Talia could hear Mrs. Crenshaw's loud snores from the next room, despite the fact that a wall separated them. She tossed and turned, her mind too wide awake for any sleep. She eventually gave up, lighting a candle and creeping out to check the time on the clock above the mantel. A little after one o'clock in the morning.

Talia's stomach growled. She hadn't managed to force down much of the stew during dinnertime, her grief and nerves overriding the hunger. She decided to go see if maybe she could at least get some bread to nibble on before returning to her room.

Talia found the remainder of the bread, although by now, being left out, it had grown hard. She didn't care. She snatched up the last piece, nibbling as she returned to her room, softly closing the door and retreating to the bed, grabbing up a book she'd been reading, getting comfortable in the bed.

While Talia read and ate the dry bread, she actually managed to escape her grief for a while, caught up in the story she was enjoying. As the old clock struck two in the morning, Talia realized she should probably try to get some rest. She had a feeling that Mrs. Crenshaw wasn't going to rest easy until she'd lined up some customers for Talia.

Talia finished the bread, setting her book aside, blowing out the candle and snuggling down, underneath the blankets. She heard the rain picking up and sighed. While she loved London, the dreadful rainy weather was occasionally depressing.

Slowly, Talia drifted off into an unsettled sleep, dreaming about her...mother and hoping that she was at last, in peace.

****

As Talia suspected, once daylight came and Mrs. Crenshaw had her eat some porridge, dressing warmly, she wrote up several advisements, and then proceeded to drag Talia practically all over London, hoping to drudge up some kind of seamstress work for the girl.

By the time they finally returned to Mrs. Crenshaw's, (Talia would never think of it as her home), she was exhausted, both physically and mentally and simply wished to lie down for a week straight and not be bothered by anyone.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Crenshaw had other plans for Talia. Her secret wish about offering to cook came true, as Mrs. Crenshaw had some of her own sewing to attend to and set Talia loose in the kitchen, asking her to make both lunch and dinner and hinted (not so subtlety) about Talia making a pudding for dessert.

Talia sighed inwardly, but set to the tasks that the older woman asked of her. She was no stranger to hard work, growing up in a rather poor household herself. It had only been her mother and herself. She wasn't certain what tragedy had befallen her father. Her mother never spoke of him. Or if she did, it wasn't with any kind of tenderness or fondness.

Talia had always assumed that her father was a scoundrel some sort. One of those falsely charming types, who enjoyed wooing beautiful women, having their fun and then dropping them the moment someone far more entertaining came along. Talia remembered asking her mother about her father and she'd flown off the handle, ranting for ten minutes straight without taking a breath. That was the last time Talia dared to ask.

Talia often wondered if perhaps her father were still in London (and it was possible, as large as the city was), would he recognize her? Would he even care? Most likely not. However, on occasion, Talia would daydream about meeting him and how he might react. Would he embrace her, his long lost daughter? Or would he scorn her, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about?

She supposed the latter response was more likely to happen than the first one. Besides, even if Talia ever did come across her father, she wouldn't even realize that she had.

****

Several weeks passed. Talia couldn't say that things necessarily became easier for her. There were days when the grief of losing her mother was hardly present. Then there were days when it threatened to crush her utterly and she felt as though she couldn't hardly breathe.

She was indeed, grateful for Mrs. Crenshaw and her unconditional care and support. And at least the meals were getting better, as Mrs. Crenshaw didn't seem to mind Talia taking over the cooking and baking.

Talia had also found a few customers who hired her as their personal seamstress. She was actually making a decent sum of money. Although most of it went towards buying food, Talia was grateful for whatever money she could earn, assisting Mrs. Crenshaw. It was the least she could do since the woman had offered her room and board and plenty of hot meals.

****

A year after Talia's mother had been laid to rest, she was dealt another harsh blow. One afternoon, she returned from the market, only to discover that old Mrs. Crenshaw's poor heart had given out and now, Talia wasn't sure what to do with herself.

****

Over the next several months, things went from bad to worse for Talia. While she was still making some money from continuing to do her seamstress work, she wasn't making enough to stay in Mrs. Crenshaw's house. She was three months behind on the rent. She tried begging with the landlord, but he wouldn't listen. Instead, he cast Talia out into the street.

Talia took her meager belongings and managed to find another old widow woman, Mrs. Ellington, to take her in for a few shillings a week. It wasn't anything extravagant, but it was clean and warm, which was all Talia cared about.

However, Mrs. Ellington was a shrewd woman and soon, she was taking advantage of Talia's kindness, treating her like a servant or worse. Eventually, Talia decided to simply leave. She thought perhaps she was better off in a workhouse than stuck with that old bitch.

Unfortunately favor was yet to shine upon Talia, as she went from one rotten situation to another. It was dreadful, discouraging and took a toll on not only her mental well-being but physical well-being as well.

Eventually, Talia managed to find a small, clean room that she could rent out and live alone, while continuing to work on her sewing. And for a while, things seemed to be going well, she was dreadfully lonely, longing for true companionship.

However, Talia knew that her circumstances were complicated and the chances of finding someone who'd truly love her was a rare thing and she began to realize that she'd most likely be alone for the rest of her life.