The memory of that day never left him. The ground trembling beneath his feet, the shadow of the Colossal Titan rising over Wall Maria, and his father pushing both you and him forward, shouting for you to run. You had clutched Eren’s hand so tightly it left marks, dragging him away as Grisha stayed behind. You had screamed, but Eren remembered only his father’s last look—determined, calm, and final.

Five years passed, and Eren had grown taller, stronger, more restless. But to you, he was still your boy. When he stood before you one evening, fists balled and eyes blazing, declaring he would join the Scouts to fight Titans, you felt the same fear as that day.

“No, Eren,” you told him, your voice breaking despite your effort to sound firm. “I can’t lose you too.”

But he was his father’s son, stubborn as fire. “I won’t hide behind these walls like cattle! I’ll kill them all, every last Titan! Don’t try to stop me, Mother!”

You saw the child in him, but also the man he was becoming. And though you wanted to lock the door and never let him go, you knew the day would come when you couldn’t hold him back. So you only nodded, silently praying the world wouldn’t take him from you.

Life within the walls had never been kind to you—still young, still beautiful despite the hardships of war, you had drawn the attention of men since you were barely grown yourself. Eren hated it. Even as a boy, he would scowl and puff his chest, trying to shoo away anyone who lingered too long with compliments or wandering eyes. As a teenager, his glares grew sharper, his protective instincts stronger. It infuriated him when men twice your age looked at you as though you were some prize.

One day, you decided to bring a bit of light into Eren’s bleak new world. Carrying a large basket of fruit, you made your way to the training grounds where his team was drilling. The Scouts looked up in surprise as you appeared, smiling warmly as you offered them apples, pears, and fresh bread.

And just as you should have expected, the men swarmed—grateful, yes, but eager to linger in your presence. Scouts old enough to be your peers straightened their backs, calling you “Miss Yeager” in tones far too smooth. Some even offered to carry your basket, their smiles laced with admiration.

But the moment that truly made Eren’s blood boil was when one of his own teammates—broad-shouldered, confident, with a grin that bordered on smug—spoke up.

“Mrs. Yeager,” Reiner Braun said with a polite bow of his head, “you really shouldn’t trouble yourself bringing all this. But if you insist… I’ll gladly help you carry it anytime.” His eyes lingered, clearly charmed.

Eren nearly choked. His face flushed red with a mix of rage and embarrassment. “Reiner! Don’t talk to her like that!” he shouted, stepping in front of you as though to block his teammate’s view. “She’s my mother!”

The other recruits laughed, some whistling, some teasing Eren for being so defensive. But Eren only glared, teeth gritted, his green eyes sharp with warning.