It was mid-morning on Friday when Cora heard the apartment's doorbell ring, a couple hours after Robert had left for work. He had, of course, gone to work this morning, much as she'd suspected he would after the awkwardness of yesterday. They hadn't spoken since he'd demanded to know why she'd kept the miscarriage from him for fifteen hours, and he'd spent the night in the spare room. Yet the situation was almost a relief, for she doubted it was as painful as it would have been to interact with Robert, the disappointment in his eyes plainly visible. However, she knew that at some point, they would have to discuss the future of their marriage…their pointless marriage.
She could not think, as she stood to answer the door, who it might be. A delivery of some sort? But she didn't think they'd ordered anything.
No unexpected delivery could have been more surprising than what she saw when she glanced through the peephole: Robert's grandmother.
"Gran!" she exclaimed as she flung open the door. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't know you were in London—"
Mary smiled. "I took the train up this morning, love, and then got a cab here from King's Cross. I thought I'd come see you, if you don't mind a visitor."
"No, I don't mind," Cora said, stepping back to let her grandmother-in-law in. "Please come in." The very last thing she wanted was more time alone with her thoughts. "Did…did Robert tell you?" She had texted her mother yesterday, as well as Felice, but she had ignored the calls she had received from both of them in response. Robert, she assumed, had told his own family.
"He did, yes. And he seemed to be under the impression that you preferred to be alone. But from the way he talked, I thought that might not be quite accurate."
"No, it's not." It was precisely what she'd told Robert yesterday morning, but it couldn't have been further from the truth. She had been immensely grateful on Wednesday when Rosamund had insisted on sitting on the couch all afternoon while Cora napped, and the emptiness of the apartment in the last two hours had swirled loudly around her. "I don't want to be alone." I just don't want to be with Robert, she added silently. "Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?"
"No," Mary said sternly, taking in Cora's pajamas and the hot water bottle that had been discarded on the couch when she'd stood to answer the door. "You're not well, and you won't be getting anyone anything. Go and get comfortable again, and I'll make us both a cup of tea."
Cora curled up on the couch, and a few minutes later, Mary returned with two steaming cups and took a seat next to Cora. "So tell me, love," she said softly, "how are you?"
"I…don't quite believe it," Cora replied. "I can't believe it." And that was the truth of it: she had been continually stunned in the last two days to think that the baby was truly gone, that the doctors had been able to do nothing, that she wouldn't wake up and find this all a dream.
"Of course not…of course you can't. I'm sure it was a terrible shock."
"I keep thinking about him or her…not just as a baby, but as a little boy, as a teenage girl." She paused, thinking of all the times, before and after the miscarriage, that she'd pictured a child with her dark hair and Robert's eyes. "We were going to name it Patrick if it was a boy, Summer if it was a girl."
Mary smiled gently. "Those are lovely names."
"The odd part was that it had never occurred to me that I could have a miscarriage. I know it's not uncommon before 12 weeks—and I wasn't quite there—but…there had just never been any question in my mind that there would be a baby next fall. I think—a lot of women—they…worry about it, and realize they might not make it out of their first trimester. That is, women who are…more mature than me." Women who understand how these things work, she added silently as she stared into her teacup. Women who are actually old enough to be mothers.
"Never be ashamed of optimism, Cora," Mary said, as though she had heard her thoughts. "It's what gets us through life."
She wasn't sure she had anything left to be optimistic about. "I don't think…I don't think Robert ever considered the possibility that there wouldn't be a baby either."
Mary shook her head. "No, I don't think considering negative possibilities is much in his nature."
"I keep wondering what would have happened if we'd known last winter that this baby wasn't…" Going to live, she finished silently. Wondering, of course, was not quite the word. She knew exactly what would have happened if they'd known the baby would never be born.
"Do you regret your marriage, Cora?"
"No." She didn't, truly, because if she had it to do over again, she imagined she'd still marry Robert. She'd fallen too hard for him, come to love him too much, to ever regret marrying him. "But Robert does."
Mary's eyes narrowed. "Did he tell you this?"
"Not…directly."
"Tell me what's happened."
Cora paused, feeling her face redden at the thought of repeating the story…but what did it matter now? "A couple weeks ago, I confused his phone with mine, and I saw a text he had sent a friend telling him that he married me because I was pregnant. And of course, now I'm not pregnant."
"Oh, my darling…have you talked with Robert about this?"
Cora shook her head. She could not imagine talking with Robert.
"You must, Cora. You must find out what he meant by it; you must tell him what you're thinking. He does love you; I know he does—and you must let him tell you."
Cora shook her head. "I can't tell him what I saw; I…I can't." She was horrified at the very thought, because she could not imagine what Robert might say in response. To hear the confirmation from his lips... "I–I didn't even tell him I had miscarried at first. Did he tell you I kept it from him for a day? Did he tell you that?"
There was surprise in Mary's eyes, but her voice stayed even. "No, he didn't tell me that."
"I did. I–I didn't know how to tell him, so for hours, I–I just…I didn't know how I would ever tell him—and I know he's angry about that, and I understand why he's angry—but I couldn't, because–because I know he's going to suggest soon that I just go home, and I can't." She couldn't go back to New York or Ohio, not now. Not while Robert stayed in London.
Cora had thought she had run dry of tears in the last two days, but they were spilling over again, in spite of her best efforts to hold them at bay in front of the dowager countess.
"Oh, my dear child," Mary whispered, setting her cup down and moving to embrace her. "Robert loves you," she said as she brought Cora's head to her shoulder. "You're not going to have to go anywhere."
What was worse, though? Going home divorced, or carrying on with a husband who regretted marrying her? "I just wish–I wish it hadn't happened," she said through her tears, suddenly too tired to argue as she rested her forehead against Mary's neck. "I just want—I just want my baby."
"I know, love," she heard the older woman say softly as she felt her fingers stroke through her hair. "I know."
AN: There is only one more chapter left (I think), but I've fallen behind and I haven't even started on it. This is my last week of the semester, so I have an exam and a final project, and then Friday I'm off for a weekend trip, so I don't think I can get it written and polished by next Sunday. So I think we may have to take a one-week hiatus...but I promise to have the final chapter up by Dec. 18 at the latest! :-)