It was a cold and rainy night. The dark sky was filled with clouds and pouring torrents, and the occasional streak of lightning. Staring at the glass ceiling of her bedroom, Beatrice Baudelaire lay on her soft mattress, thought about practically everything she had been through, and sighed deeply.
Beatrice loved the stars. Where were they now? She hadn't seen them for quite awhile. Lately it had been so rainy that her children played in the beach practically every morning, just so they could have a place for themselves. And their parents willingly let them out, because of all the more dangerous things they had to discuss in private.
It started with the naval map. Beatrice got it from H, while her husband and children were playing in the fountain outside the bank. She went out and joined in, and for awhile it was as if nothing was wrong, but that night she and Bertrand discussed the map thoroughly, and up to now Beatrice could not rest until she found a way to escape the danger that had, once again, held them nearly in its clutches.
"Beatrice?" Bertrand said softly.
His wife looked up. Beatrice had been so deep in her thoughts; she had not noticed that Bertrand had just stepped in.
"Oh, love," Beatrice stood up and kissed him, and they both sat on the bed, looking sadly at each other.
"Beatrice," Bertrand started. "I've...I've been thinking..."
"So have I,'' Beatrice whispered.
"I think," Bertrand went on, "I think it's about time we should tell them."
Outside thunder roared and rain fell harder. Beatrice shook her head.
"We should just move," Beatrice said.
"Again? Aren't the kids suspicious enough? Listen, Bea, remember the time we yelled at Klaus for wetting the encyclopedia. You know it wasn't the encyclopedia we were angry about, it was the-"
"Oh, Bertrand," Beatrice sighed, "when I had Violet, I vowed that we would give her and her siblings a good childhood. Not like ours. I want them to be happy, not solving codes all the time, or worrying about our house being arsoned, or having their lives risked. I want them to be kids as long as they are kids. If we tell them about VFD, they won't be kids anymore."
"They still will be, Bea. We'll make sure of that. And besides, you've read the map! O is on his way and he might kill us,'' he shook his head. "No. He will kill us. Not unless we go to headquarters. And tell the kids everything."
"But they're too young!" Beatrice cried.
"We were younger, Bea. Heck, I was four and you were two when the schism started! We didn't know what a quiet world was like. Listen, Bea. You're brave. J told you that, and so did L and R and even O! Prove that, love. Before it's too late." He kissed her on the cheek.
Beatrice sighed. "You're right." She folded her hands on her lap. "When will tell them?"
"Tomorrow,'' Bertrand said firmly. "We'll give them a last moment of carefreeness....say, we'll let them play at the beach for a few hours, and when they get home we'll gather them in the library and tell them everything. It has to be tomorrow or else it would be too late." He smiled faintly. "Is it a yes, Beatrice?"
Beatrice nodded. "Yes, and I believe they could handle it. They're brave. After all," here she chuckled, "they are the children of Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire. Speaking of which, how about another round of backgammon? I'll make sure you eat crow again, Bert."
"Ha. In your dreams, Bea,'' he chuckled.
And this was how Beatrice and Bertrand spend their last rainy night alive, happy, eating crows and awaiting for the future, not knowing the disaster ahead of them, and their three children.