When he was a young man, he was told that women are often depressed after birthing a child. Too many changes to overcome. A new responsibility. They will mess up. They've made a mistake.
Tarrlok never expected that he would dwell on this lesson, since he wouldn't have a wife. That'd be far too tempting for fate, to marry during his so-called "second life" like his father did.
But then came Avatar Korra. Smirking, stubborn, pregnant. The last scenario prompted their marriage—somewhat. Though it wasn't his child she carried, Tarrlok always ruminated on the political benefits of being betrothed to the Avatar. And when he'd discovered her situation, it bemused him, but it was the perfect time for his proposition.
The rest of Republic City had no idea about her condition, and a marriage with him offered a cover-up. Even if she was a few months along, what was the worst lie the newspapers could propagate—that he knocked her up and they married in haste? By Water Tribe standards, she would've been a woman when the tryst happened.
On the wedding night, she expected him to make her consummate the marriage after the ceremony (which had been a long ordeal); though he suggested that they sleep in the same bed to prevent unkind rumors from spreading, he never touched her indecently that night. They slept with their backs to each other.
Tarrlok wondered traitorously who, just who was the father of her child. If they had stolen her heart. That was the stupid part of himself, the young, idealistic fool buried through extortion and the numbing drone of paperwork and days spent alone in his working chambers or wandering the halls of his expansive home. No doubt it was one of those probending boys, and they'd fumbled around carelessly.
But Korra, once she'd given birth, wasn't sad in the least. She'd ranted and cried in the later months of her pregnancy, almost crushed his hand while she was in labor. She told him things that now make her shake her head. About how she couldn't be a mother. Oddly enough, that terrified Tarrlok. If a sheltered, spirited girl can't properly tend to a child, can't love it, how can a cynical man with no happy memories craft a fitting childhood for someone else?
When he held the child for the first time, Tarrlok was overwhelmed with despair. This wasn't his child, and he'll never have one. It's for the best. Any child with his blood—no. It's best that Yakone's bloodline runs out.
He sits there and his eyes burn. Dry eyes, of course. He's too smug, too proud to cry. The wetness is from the irritation.
"You are so—oh, whoooo." Korra's nose wrinkles. "Looks like it's time to hand you over to our resident diaperbender."
She smiles, walking with her child in her arms. "Hey, husband. Tarrrrloook." She strolls down the spacious, plushly carpeted hallway.
Korra worried when she was pregnant that she and Tarrlok wouldn't be able to care for the child. Not care as in providing a home; of course that was no trouble. But they have duties, and her—their daughter needed care as in love. Alternating in the day hours is difficult, and the nights are hard when she can't sleep because she's too busy monitoring the rise and fall of an infant's chest.
Tarrlok tries, but at first it was as if he didn't want to get attached. Well, she guesses that he didn't feel a connection to a child he didn't father. She wondered if she made a mistake. But he worries, and that sates Korra. In his own dumb way, Tarrlok will do anything to keep the child safe.