A Substitute of Several Positions
Elizabeth didn't count just the days: her time was down to seconds. Minutes were much too long to suffer for she knew the next would be without the one who meant the most. It wasn't time yet. It wasn't time yet. It was not yet time for her to be at her happiest.
And while she mourned, her child grew. From a wriggling pinpoint in her womb to a toddler and a tripping boy and soon, an almost-man. A man so much like his father. His face took on an angle, jagged at the jaw; the hands, as broad and skilled as the ones who crafted flawless, jem-studded blades before the young boy's consummation. He made such pretty things, working through his studies with gentle fingers, it made her tear in memory. Certainly, she loved him, though she wondered, at the fireside petting his soft hair, if it was really he she loved or the memory he brought.
She regretted, too, her wishing but if he grew—and quickly, please—then it meant the time was going faster and Will was coming sooner and everything would be the same again.
What would happen to the boy, she really wasn't sure. Maybe she could finally enjoy him for who he was meant to be.
But for now, he was her almost-perfect substitute.