Jo is in her room, probably writing as usual, when Friedrich leaves to give his morning lessons.
He returns at his lunch hour and does not see his lovely wife. He climbs the stairs to find her in the same spot. Something is amiss, though, since a morning of writing would usually result in papers carelessly strewn about the room. As he walks up behind the chair, he notices no scribbles, nor ink upon her face or hands, which she customarily wears while frantically writing a story.
"Mein Jo," he whispers. She jumps in the chair, completely unaware of his presence. He slowly rests his hand on her shoulder, and she daintily lays hers over it. She raises her shoulder, and exhaling, rests her head on their joined hands.
"Professorin," he whispers, "are you ill, darling?"
"No, I do not believe so," she says softly, with closed eyes.
"Why have you spent the morning staring out of this window?"
"It is a beautiful view," she begins.
"It is…" he agrees half-heartedly, still unsure of what is on his wife's mind. She is so rarely quiet that it is beginning to scare him.
"Mein Jo," he kisses her on top of the head. She leans into his soft caress. "What is it? Can I help?"
"Promise me we'll go to Europe some day," she says frankly. He is taken aback by the command, but nods nervously.
"We will. It may not be tomorrow, or the next day, but some day. I promise that."
"Nothing will change our dreams?"
"Ah, mein Jo," he whispers, "why would our dreams change? Please let me into your brilliant mind just once. Tell me what put you in this state so I may put you at ease."
She does not answer, except for a tear rolling down her cheek. He catches it with his warm thumb before it reaches her chin. He holds her small chin in his hand and pulls her face to his. He kisses her softly, but with enough passion to ignite a fire in her core. She reaches out for his shoulders and they slide onto the floor of the small office before she knows it.
"Jo, I love you with more than I can say in this language."
"I love you too," she replies sadly.
"Please tell me the reason for your sad tone on this sunny day." She sits up, and he rests his large hands on the small of her waist.
After a long moment of silence, she tenderly expresses, "I have done something I said I never would. We are married, for almost a year now."
"This makes you sad?" He asks, hurt by the thought of his sweet Jo regretting their union. He knew that she had never intended to marry, but he always had hoped that their love overcame her girlish advertence to the idea of marriage. He is brought out of his swirling thoughts by her hand upon his cheek.
She kisses his soft lips cautiously and whispers through a warm breath, "No." His lips turn into a crooked smile, and he returns the kiss with more passion than before. He tries to make her lie down, but she stiffens and silently refuses, not yet finished with her impending thoughts.
"What is it, meine Liebe?"
She sighs and moves one of his hands onto her abdomen. "I never intended to marry, and I certainly never, and I mean never, wanted a child."
"A child?" Friedrich pulls his hand away in surprise. He looks at her with wide eyes and sputters, "Ar-Are you sure?"
"I saw the doctor yesterday while you were out." She gazes at his face, searching for his thoughts. He is the only person she is unable to read. His face, regularly stoic, flashes no sign of emotion – neither happiness nor sadness. Her forehead twists in concern, and she begins to stand, unable to take his thoughtless expression any longer. He quickly grabs her hand and pulls her onto his lap. She falls on top of him, lacking any form of grace, and melts into his grasp.
"Fritz…" she moans through his kisses.
"Yes?" he asks
"Are you really happy?"
"Let me show you just how much happiness is in my heart at this moment…"
They roll on the floor in a tight embrace. She runs her fingers through his unruly hair, and he carefully caresses her every curve.
She looks at her husband, so happy, so sure that this is the path he wants to take. He wants to have a child with her.
I can do this. I will... for my Fritz, she thinks to herself.