Chapter 75- Fear #2
I heard the stupidity of the question only after it left me. One brow rose faintly. I rubbed one hand over my face.
"That was not what I meant."
"I know."
"We were careful."
"Not careful enough."
I read the date again.
My chest tightened.
"How long have you known?"
The question came quietly.
Too quietly.
The paper remained open in my hands . The words no longer mattered. The physician's signature. The dates. The careful notes written in neat black ink. None of it frightened me as much as the answer I had not yet heard.
Ophelia did not speak.
She sat at the edge of the bed with her knees drawn tightly against her chest, her arms wrapped around them as though she could somehow hold herself together if she simply refused to let go.
Damp strands of dark hair rested against her cheeks from the bath.
Her eyes remained lowered, fixed somewhere on the blankets instead of me.
The silence stretched.
It became longer than it should have been.
Long enough that something cold settled quietly inside my chest.
L That frightened me more than the pregnancy.
"Ophelia."
I said her name again.
Softer this time.
Not because I wanted to be gentle. Because suddenly I was afraid of the answer.
"So..." she whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear. "Three weeks."
For a moment, I simply stared at her.
Then my head lifted sharply.
"Three weeks?"
The words escaped before I could soften them.
Not out of anger.
Out of disbelief.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days.
Twenty-one nights she had gone to sleep beside me carrying this alone.
Twenty-one mornings she had smiled at me, kissed me goodbye, eaten breakfast with our daughters, listened to me complain about ministers and trade agreements, laughed when Elowen hid vegetables beneath the table, and never once allowed me to see what she had been carrying.
She flinched.
The movement was so small another person might never have noticed.
I did.
Her shoulders tightened.
Her gaze slipped away from mine.
She stared toward the window instead, as though the evening sky had suddenly become far more interesting than my face.
"Why..."
The question caught in my throat before I forced it out.
"Why did you not tell me?"
Her eyes filled immediately.
There was no hesitation.
No attempt to pretend she was stronger than she felt.
The tears simply gathered along her lashes, bright in the fading light.
Whatever frustration had tried to rise inside me disappeared before it ever had the chance to become anger.
I lowered the medical records onto the nightstand.
Carefully.
Almost absently.
One corner had folded while I held them. I smoothed it flat with my thumb before letting go completely.
Then I removed my glasses.
The room blurred around the edges as I placed them neatly beside the papers. Only then did I realize Ophelia had been watching my hands.
Not my face.
She could not bear to look at me.
Instead, she searched every small movement, trying to understand what I was feeling from the way I handled a piece of paper.
That realization hurt far more than I expected.
"I know," she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
"I should have told you."
I stood.
Slowly.
She heard me move.
Immediately, she turned her head farther away. she could not bear whatever expression she imagined waiting on my face.
"I tried."
The words broke apart halfway through the sentence.
She swallowed hard before trying again.
"I really did."
I stopped in front of her.
She still refused to look at me.
"Every day..."
Another tear slipped free.
"Every single day, I tried."
I sat closer to her.
The mattress dipped beneath my weight, causing her body to shift slightly toward me. She instinctively drew her knees tighter against her chest, making herself smaller. It was something she had not done in years. Not since the beginning of our marriage.
Not since she still believed shrinking herself made the world safer.
"I would wake up every morning," she said quietly, "and tell myself that today would be the day."
Her fingers twisted together.
"I would rehearse it."
A small, broken smile touched her lips.
"I even practiced saying the words."
She laughed once.
It sounded painfully empty.
"I would walk toward your office."
Her breathing became uneven.
"Or wait until dinner."
Another pause.
"Or tell myself I would say it before we went to sleep."
She finally looked down at her hands.
"And every single time..."
Her voice weakened again.
"I would see you."
I frowned.
"What about me?"
"I would look at you..."
She drew in a shaky breath.
"And I knew exactly what your face would look like."
My brows pulled together.
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes finally met mine.
There was so much fear inside them that my chest physically hurt.
"You would be happy."
The words were barely audible.
I stared at her.
She gave another broken little laugh.
One completely devoid of joy.
"I knew you would smile." Her lips trembled violently now. "You would probably pick me up." Another tear fell. "You would kiss me." Then another. "You would start talking about names."
She covered her mouth with one hand as another sob threatened to escape.
"You would be excited."
The sentence shattered.
"I could not bear it."
The tears came all at once.
Not slowly.
Not gracefully.
One moment she was trying to keep them inside. The next, they poured down her face faster than she could wipe them away.
"I could not tell you..."
She struggled to breathe between the words.
"I could not watch you become happy..."
Her shoulders began shaking.
"When every part of me..." Another sob escaped. "...was terrified."
I moved without thinking.
She resisted.
Only for the space of a single breath.
Just long enough to whisper my name beneath another sob.
Then she collapsed against me.
Completely.
Her forehead struck my shoulder.