Her eyes are closed. Her hand is still. Her mouth trembles ever so slightly, and then goes back to its fixed place. Her skin is so pale. Her face is hot, burning with fever.

Wendla. How could this be happening to you?

I grasp your hand as the doctor puts another cool cloth on your forehead. You tremble slightly at the touch, though your eyes remaining closed.

"Her temperature is very high." The doctor says quietly. "I will stay on to try and break the fever but I cannot promise anything."

I look up at him. His name is Doctor Wheston, his hair grey already and he squints at me from over his tiny spectacles. "Yes, thank you sir." I say slowly, looking back at you.

"I suggest that you move away from the bed." The doctor continues. "This fever is highly contagious, you wouldn't want to catch it."

"No, thank you sir, I'll sit with Wendla." I say immediately. As if there was ever any doubt about it. He mumbles something incomprehensible and walks out of the room.

I don't know how long I have sat on this chair, how long I have held your hand, Wendla, but I will not let go until you sit up and tell me that you are going to be alright. But you just lie there, as if the world is going right by, letting my world fall apart.

It's all my fault. I should have taken you to the doctor the minute that your fever returned. But I thought that it would just pass, like all the others. But instead, you became warmer until you collapsed on the floor yesterday. I went for the doctor immediately, but we all knew that it was too late. That you should have been seen to long before.

And you have been in this bed, still as marble ever since.

"Papa?" A timid voice calls me from the doorway and I look round to see my tiny daughter gripping onto the doorframe to stay upright.

"Come here, Ilse." I say, getting up and walking over to the doorway to scoop her up and take her to sit with me on the chair. She looks sideways at Wendla.

"Mama!" She cries, reaching out her short arms to try and touch her but I pull her back.

"No, Ilse." I whisper to her. "Mama is sick, we have to be quiet." I demonstrate by shushing against my finger and she copies. "Good girl." I lean her back to lie against my chest and rock her until her breathing becomes rhythmic and I know she is asleep.

My little girl. If Wendla… is no longer able to live normally, how will I look after Ilse? Ilse is so special to me, I cannot let her be harmed, yet me raising her alone can be enough to harm her. Wendla is naturally a mother. She knows what foods Ilse is allergic to, when to put her to bed, what to do if she is crying. I will hurt Ilse if I am made to look after her on my own. I cannot be a good father alone.

I hear a sudden murmur and look over. Wendla, you are moving. You churn a bit and open one eye, then the other. Wendla, can you see me? Can you see Ilse? You must be able to, because you start to slowly smile.

"Melchi." Your voice comes out in a croak.

I lean forward, careful not to disturb Ilse and take your hand again. "I'm here, Wendla."

You look down at Ilse who is deep in sleep, completely oblivious to the world. "She's so lovely when she sleeps, isn't she?"

I look down at our daughter and my own smile comes out. "She is. She truly is." I look back up at you. "Do you want to hold her?"

You shake your head. "No. I don't want to make her sick. Put her in her cradle."

I nod and get up to place Ilse in her cradle, covering her with a shawl. Ilse murmurs slightly, then rolls over and her face is peaceful with sleep again, then walk back to sit next to you.

You stop, watching Ilse a bit. "I so wanted to see her grow up." You say quietly and I look up at you. "See her dance for the first time, her first sentences. All that."

"Wendla, don't say that." I take your hand again. "You will see her grow up."

You smile but shake your head sadly. "We both know I won't."

"No, Wendla, please don't say that!" I cry, my voice breaking. "Don't! You will make it, I know it!"

You pull your hand away to rest it on my cheek, wiping away the stray tear. "Don't cry, Melchi." You whisper. "Please don't cry."

I take a deep breath and look at you again. "I won't cry."

You smile and look over to Ilse. "Treat her well, Melchi, please." You whisper, taking my hand again. "She will grow up to be a beautiful girl, just treat her well."

"I promise." I croak, fighting back tears.

She looks back at me suddenly. "I love you, Melchi. I always have and I always will, even where I'm going."

I lean down and kiss her forehead. "You are everything to me." I whisper. She puts her hand on the back of my head and pulls me down to kiss her on her warm lips. We kiss, one last resort kiss, after everything else had been lost. We lose ourselves a bit, concentrating only on the feeling of each other.

Her arm goes limp and falls to her side. Her lips stop moving. I pull away to look at her and her eyes are closed.

No. She can't have…

No.

"Doctor!" I cry, standing up. "Doctor, come in here quickly!"

The door opens and the old man hurries in to stand by the bed, pressing his hand on her forehead.

"She might be alright, but I need to check." He breathes. "Perhaps you and your daughter would like to wait outside until I have finished."

I nod. "Yes doctor." I turn and walk over to the cradle to pick Ilse up and carry her out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I go to sit on out sofa a bit and rock Ilse around in my arms. She murmurs something quietly and rests her head on my chest.

Wendla. I can't do this without her. I can't provide money or food for Ilse and be a father. The blacksmith is strict about hours, I can't take care of Ilse and keep my job. But I can't take care of Ilse without keeping my job…

Stop thinking about this. You're scaring yourself. Get it together, Melchior. If you could do it in the hell that they called school, you can do it now.

The door opens. An answer is ready.

I stand up, Ilse still in my arms and walk to meet the doctor right outside the room.

"How is she?" I say and he looks up at me.

"I'm afraid that Wendla has passed." He whispers, touching my shoulder. "I am so sorry. I can see myself out." He walks past me to the front door.

But I can barely hear him. Those words just go round my head.

Wendla has passed.

Wendla has passed. Wendla has passed. Wendla has passed.

.

It can't be true. It can't be.

Not you, Wendla.

I throw the door of the bedroom open and put Ilse in her cradle. I can't turn around and face you. I won't be able to bear it.

I have to.

I have to sometime.

I slowly turn and see you. So still, so pale. Not even the sound of even breaths coming from you.

I walk closer until I am standing on your bedside and just stare at you.

Then my knees buckle. I fall to the floor, my head against the bed and let out all of the fear that I have been keeping in myself for the past few hours. I scream with anger that I should have taken care of you better. I cry with hate at the fever that killed you. I sob with sadness that I have to live in this world without you. I don't stop. I can't stop.

But I do.

Something stops me. A sound.

"Papa?"

I turn and see Ilse sitting up in her cradle, her hand clasped around the side bar to keep herself up.

"Papa?" She asks again, cocking her head to one side.

I stand up and take you into my arms.

I will make it. Only because of you, little Ilse. I will make it for you.

I lean forward and place a kiss on your forehead and hold you close.

I will make it come hell or high water.

I promise.

A/N I had this idea a while ago and only now have I finally written it! Tell me what you think! x