Worried

Lucien lay awake, night after night, worried. He would lie on his side, staring at Jean as she slept, scrutinizing the slow and steady movement of her chest rising up and down as she breathed. He would hold her in his arms and stare at the shadows on the wall, frantically considering every possible problem that might arise and how he could solve them all.

She often woke up to use the bathroom throughout the night, which was to be expected. Whenever he felt her stir, he would close his eyes and feign sleep. He didn't want her to worry. He knew he worried enough for the both of them.

But one night, he wasn't able to convincingly portray sleep. She returned to bed and found him fidgeting slightly, his eyes shut just a bit too tight to be natural.

"Lucien? Are you awake?" she asked gently.

He sighed and opened his eyes. "Yes."

"Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all," he assured her.

Jean frowned. She could tell he hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. Sitting down on the bed, she turned on the lamp on the nightstand. She needed to see him. And to her slight horror, she found his face pale and shadowed, almost gaunt. "You haven't been sleeping," she stated.

"Not yet tonight, no," he replied.

But she shook her head. "No, I mean at all. When is the last time you actually had a night's rest?"

Lucien sat up, knowing he shouldn't lie to her now. "I honestly don't know. I'm sure I do sleep. But I've been lying awake for most of the night for the past few months."

"Would that be the last seven months? Or rather the past four, since we found out?" she asked knowingly.

He reached over and stroked her hand. "I didn't want to upset you."

"I have done this before, you know. I'll be fine."

"At your age, though, the risks are higher. I need to be aware of whatever could happen. It's my job, Jean, as your doctor and your husband and the father of our unborn child, to take care of you."

"And I know you will. But worrying constantly won't help anyone. Least of all you. If you don't relax and get some sleep, you won't be any good to anyone."

"I know you're right," he agreed, casting his eyes downward, sorry to have disappointed her.

Jean reached out and stroked his cheek. "Come on, don't be like that. It's scary for both of us. I never expected to get pregnant. I'm very glad I am, and I know our child will be healthy and perfect. But it is still unexpected and dangerous, I know. But we can't dwell on that, can we?"

"I suppose not," he sighed.

"How can I help you to relax? Would you like me to get you a drink?"

"No, Jean, we talked about that." Lucien had been insistent upon finding out they were going to have a baby that he couldn't rely on alcohol as he had before. That was no way to be a father.

"I'm not saying you need to pass out from it, but I'm sure one glass would help settle your nerves. I'm sure going without is adding to your anxiety." Not waiting for him to respond, Jean stood up from the bed. "I'm going to get you some. And you'll drink it and relax, and we can both get some sleep, alright?"

Lucien allowed her to go to his study to get him a drink. When he was better rested, he would find something that could calm him like whiskey without the negative side effects on his family. But for now, he just sat in bed, staring at the open door she had just walked out. He smiled. How had he gotten so lucky? So wildly lucky to marry a woman he loved more than anything? So lucky that she worried about him being worried? It seemed impossible that this had somehow become his life. And really, that's why he was worried. He knew all too well how quickly happiness could be ripped away. His love for Jean, for their child who was only a few weeks away from being born, overwhelmed him sometimes.

Jean returned with a glass of whiskey in her hand. "Here, drink this."

"Thank you, Jean." He took the glass from her and swallowed half of it in one go. "But you know, I'm never going to stop worrying about you."

"And I'm never going to stop worrying about you either," she replied with a slight shrug. "It's a hazard of loving someone, I should think."

He nodded. "Quite." He placed his hand on her pregnant belly. "And I love you both more than I could possibly say."

Jean smiled, placing her hand on top of his. "Yes, we feel the same way."

Lucien finished the last swig of whiskey and put the glass on the bedside table. Jean turned out the light, and they got themselves settled back in bed. Lucien held his wife in his arms and breathed in her scent, letting it fill his very soul. Jean gently stroked his arms, soothing him to sleep. And finally, she could feel his breathing change to a restful pattern. She fell asleep, praying they could both stop worrying so much.