’til death do us part

In the dead of the night, staring up at the ceiling, the guilt screaming in her ears as loud as Night Light’s snoring, Twilight Velvet wondered if she was a terrible wife. 

She knew she wasn’t in the traditional sense. She did her share of the chores, helped raise two wonderful kids, spoke with him long into the night, and was there for him in sickness and health. 

She loved him. 

But he’d also been the only thing she’d ever known, her first boyfriend, the two of them married straight out of high school, gone to the same college together as a married couple, everything in life together. 

She’d wondered, once, if she was missing out. 

Actually, she wondered it a lot, when everything was still, and her mind had time to think, when he was away on a business trip, and sometimes when he was right next to her, and then she’d immediately stop thinking about it. 

She was happy. She loved him, she did. That was, perhaps, the worst part. That she loved him, and even if that love had been a patch over the hole in her heart for years, that hole had now grown so large it could no longer be ignored. 

Because of Her. 

“Hi, everyone! I’m Silversap,” had said the newest member of Velvet’s weekly book club. An earth pony mare with a coat the color of the sky, mane the color of the sun, and eyes the color of Twilight’s soul, her heart somersaulting at the sight of Silversap without consulting her. 

Silversap liked to write, just as Velvet did. She also enjoyed hiking, just as Velvet did, and when she invited Velvet for a friendly hike, she was delighted to say yes. Even Night Light—oh God, Night Light—had been delighted for her. 

So they went, and they talked and talked about writing, reading, sports, and all sorts of activities, Velvet enraptured the entire time. Eventually, as they neared the summit a few hours later, the talk turned personal. 

Silversap was divorced, you see. She’d been married to a mare—a mare!—and it hadn’t worked out, so now she was single and, as they say, ready to mingle. She’d then asked Velvet the same—’are you married?’ with a gentle, cryptic smile—and Twilight had replied yes, she was. 

When they reached the summit a little later, the night already sweeping over the sky, Twilight Velvet couldn’t even focus on the stars, tortured instead by the fact that she’d wished for a moment her answer had been no, she wasn’t.

She sat up on the bed, burying her face in her hooves. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of her, every idle stray thought wandering in her direction, even though she didn’t want it. She hated it, this crush, this feeling, which consumed her entirely, and even more so every time her husband touched her, kissed her, or loved her. 

Had she made a mistake?

There it was, the question of the hour, month, year, life; the million-bit prompt that winning might free her as much as it might sentence her. 

His snoring caught her attention, and she turned to look at him, involuntarily smiling with affection at his half-open mouth, drool pouring out. 

But she loved him. 

She loved him. She knew this as certainly as the sky was blue. She loved him, but… but the questions plagued her, hissing that if she loved him—really, truly, deeply—she wouldn’t think of straying, would she?

But what if she’d made a mistake? Or what if… What if she never found out? What if she never knew what it was like to be with one like her? Would it plague her—Would! Would wasn’t right, because it already did.

She was already plagued by the ghosts of what-if past, present, and future, all three coming in to face her the second that awful mare came into her life. 

Twilight Velvet loved Twilight Sparkle.

Her daughter, friend, and confidant, who’d taken to her mother’s hobby of reading with enthusiasm and passion, never once giving her mother trouble, never once doing anything but being kind, and whip-smart, and delightful. 

Velvet loved her daughter, and her daughter loved her, which is why it hurt all the more when one summer night, Twilight Sparkle came home to Canterlot, tears in her eyes, having riled herself up the entire train ride home. 

“Mom,” Twilight Sparkle had said, trying to be calm even as her voice broke, “do you have a problem with my relationship?” 

Twilight Sparkle had introduced her friend as her marefriend a week before, you see. 

“What? Honey, of course not,” Velvet replied immediately. “I’ve met Applejack before, and you know I like her.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Mom,” Twilight replied, and it was evident she was struggling to speak. “You couldn’t even look at us last week when we were together.” Shame. “I noticed. If we were separated, it was fine, but when we were together, you couldn’t even look at us, Mom.” Shame. “Am I wrong?” 

Velvet swallowed. “Honey, I—” 

“Am I wrong, Mom?” Twilight asked, desperate for answers because she was hurt and confused, rejected when she hadn’t expected. 

“No, Twilight,” Velvet finally replied, resigned. She forced herself to hold Twilight’s gaze even though she didn’t want it. She had to, now more than ever. “You’re not.” 

“Why?” Twilight asked next, and her voice was small, like a foal’s, her daughter. “Do you—Do you have a problem with me being…” She couldn’t even say it and needn’t because Velvet interrupted just as fast.

“No,” she said firmly and truthfully. “No, Twilight, of course not, I—” 

“Then why?” 

Velvet fell silent because what did she say to that? Shame, again, burned her, choked her, forcing her to confront her situation. The fact that she’d barely been able to look at her daughter and her partner doing something as chaste as sharing loving looks because, the entire time, all Velvet could think was, “I wish that was me.” 

What could she say to Twilight?

It was humiliating. There was really no other word for it. Humiliated that she felt that way, humiliated she hadn’t supported her daughter properly, humiliated and shamed, and feeling quite like an awful pony. 

She didn’t want to burden her daughter like that. Burden her with the knowledge that her mother often wondered if the choices that led to her existence had been the best.

Which they were, because it meant Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor were there, and she would die rather than trade them in, but she wondered still, what if, what if, what if. 

Twilight didn’t need to know that her very own happiness reminded her mother of her regrets. 

So, she made a choice.

“I’m sorry, honey, I—I guess it’s just difficult to accept,” she lied, tears filling her eyes, telling herself the hurt in Twilight’s eyes would be much worse if she heard the truth. “It’s not what I wanted for you, but… I’ll adjust. Please. Can I have another chance?” 

Twilight stepped back. “I… I don’t know, Mom, I—”

“Please,” Velvet said, begging now, desperate to do right by somepony. “Let me try again, Twilight. I want to. I want you to be happy.” 

“…Okay,” Twilight replied.

She thought of the business card hidden away in her office desk, the concerned face of a lawyer telling her ‘Sometimes, it doesn’t work out (so call here and end your marriage!).’ 

She hadn’t dared use it. Frankly, she felt she’d never use it, she didn’t want to use it, she didn’t want any of these complicated feelings she’d been saddled with, she just wanted to be happy and content, please. 

“Velvet?” 

She turned around to find Night Light wide awake, his concerned eyes on hers, and he blurred past her tears. 

“Velvet,” he continued, sitting up and extending an arm, and she leaned in and buried herself in him, because she loved him. She did, gods, she did, she knew this to be true. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He rubbed circles on her back. “Is it about what happened with Twilight?” 

Velvet nodded. It wasn’t exactly a lie. 

“Velvet, listen to me,” Night Light asked, and the tears came back when he told her with all the confidence in the world, “you’re a good mom.” 

She shook her head, and he gently laughed, affectionate and loving, and damning her all the more. 

“You are, Velvet,” he insisted, and kissing the top of her head, added, “You’re a great mom, and an even better wife.” 

“I love you,” she offered, and she meant it, because it was true. It was, she willed it that way, she had to, she wanted to, she did. 

“I know,” he said tenderly, lying down, her in his forelegs, him holding her tight. This was home. It still felt like home, most of the time, and Velvet wanted to cry in relief. “I love you, too.” 

They would be fine. She would be fine. 

They would all be okay, one way or another, sooner or later. 

“‘Till death do us part.”