A/N: I have several more for the tumblr drabble series, this one coming from a non-tumblr person – 82. Can You Hear Me?

Robert scanned the bookshelves in the library, trying to find a certain volume he used to read to Cora sometimes when she couldn't sleep during her pregnancies. Locating it, he pulled the book off the shelf and noticed a corner of worn, yellowed paper sticking out of it.

Furrowing his brows, Robert carried the book over to his chair and sat down. He extricated the paper, which had been folded into thirds. He unfolded the first third. The crease was deep, as if it had been folded for years. He recognized Cora's handwriting; it was a letter addressed to him and dated "24 December 1888."

Blinking at the page, Robert shook his head, his expression becoming even more bewildered. He could not remember having received any letter from his wife during the early months of their marriage. Letting the volume fall closed upon his lap, he smoothed the letter out completely, a crackling noise accompanying this action. Then he began to read:

Dear Robert,

I sit here, alone, on Christmas Eve, finding myself at loose ends. Christmas is for spending with loved ones, family. But my family is across the ocean from me, and I'm not sure your family will ever be fully mine. As for loved ones…. You are my precious loved one. But, you don't love me in return. I accept that, but I struggle with the reality every day.

And I have struggled with it especially today, and I am certain I will again tomorrow. Instead of spending the holiday with you, I have spent it mostly alone. It breaks my heart to realize that the man I changed my entire life for keeps moving farther from me. Do you realize it yourself? I'm not sure you do. I think you try, but it's not enough, is it? Perhaps I ask too much of you, Robert. Robert, my love.

How I long to say those words to you. But I don't; I don't want to make you uncomfortable or alienate you. I savor every kind word, every gentle touch, and each of those all-too-fleeting moments wrapped in your arms at night – before you leave, taking my heart with you.

You don't know, do you? You couldn't know; you would never intentionally hurt me. You've always been good to me, since we first met. Our courtship made me think things would be different. Maybe the fault is mine, in some way or another. But, Robert – my dear beloved – I wish it were different. I wish it could be as I imagined. I think we would both be so much happier.

Every time we are alone together – it is never enough time, and not often enough – my heart cries out for some sort of resolution. Because, at times, things you do, things you say, they leave me wondering and terribly confused. It's a confusion only you can clear. Can you hear me, Robert? Can you hear my heart cry out? Can you hear my weeping at night once you've closed the door behind you? What else can I do to make you hear me?

How very much I love you, darling. I can't say it, so I write it here, and I'll keep it hidden away until the proper time – if that time ever comes. I'm beginning to despair that it ever will.

Merry Christmas, my love. I still consider being your wife the greatest gift I've ever received.
With all my heart,

Cora

Robert read the letter twice through, then twitched his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the moisture from his eyes. He'd known how terribly in love with him she'd been, how difficult it had been for her for the months it took him to realize his own love for her. She'd told him this after he'd finally made his own declaration, but nothing could have prepared him for reading the raw emotion Cora had poured out upon the page before him.

All over again, he felt the cold wave of guilt that always filled him when thinking of those months. She'd told him on many occasions that she'd never blamed him, and now he had even more proof. It was himself he blamed.

Shaking himself, Robert stood, clearing his throat and tucking the refolded letter into his inside jacket pocket. He'd been downstairs longer than he'd meant to be. Taking the stairs two at a time, he knocked at his wife's bedroom door, and, obtaining permission, entered, smiling and holding up the book.

"You found it," she said, grinning and propping herself up more comfortably against her pillows. "Come read to me, darling." She beckoned to him and patted the bed beside her before resting her hands over her still small baby bump.

Robert left his shoes beside the bed and climbed up next to her. He slid an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her brow. She tucked herself comfortably into the crook of his arm and closed her eyes.

"I'll be happy for a nap," she sighed, "as I haven't been sleeping well at night."

Flicking through the pages awkwardly with one hand, Robert smiled softly, pressing another kiss to her hair and remembering her words in the letter. "Yes, you need to take care of yourself, my love."

"Thank you, Robert." She nestled herself deeper into the circle of his arm. "You've always been so good to me, my dear."

His lips still upon her hair, Robert closed his eyes briefly. "I love you, Cora," he whispered. "And I hear you."