I have two notes before we get started: first, the first half of this chapter contains some mildly graphic descriptions of blood and other similar elements that you can probably guess by the chapter title (don't worry - you should know by now that I'm far too soft to let a chapter end unhappily), so if that's not your thing feel free to skip over those parts! Second, this might be my last semi-regular update for a little while. I'm moving out of state and starting grad school next week, so I'm not sure what my schedule will look like. Don't worry, I'm definitely not abandoning this story, but updates will be less frequent. Thank you all again, try not to get too mad at me for this chapter until you've read all the way through :-)

The moment blood began to gush from Cora's nose, Robert knew she was going to die. He listened to O'Brien comforting his wife, telling her that everything would be all right, but between the alarm in Dr. Clarkson's eyes and the deeply unsettling pallor of Cora's skin, it was clear the maid's words could not be farther from reality. Robert watched as she leaned over the side of the bed to vomit and he knew the horrible truth: his wife was going to die, and he was the one that killed her.

This was his punishment, a cosmic retribution for his weakness. He had taken Cora for granted, sought from a maid what he ought only to want from his wife, and now he was going to pay the ultimate price. How could he touch another woman while his wife lay dying? He deserved to suffer for his foolishness. But Cora didn't. None of this was what Cora deserved.

As if to augment his shame, Cora moaned, a terrible, unnatural sound. Blood still poured from her nose as she pushed herself upright, dripping down her face and staining her nightgown. Her breath came in feeble, rattling spasms. Suddenly, her eyes found his across the room. Her pupils were blown wide, so large that they swallowed the blue almost completely. "Robert?" she wheezed, her voice thready and tinged with fear.

Robert was at her side in an instant, kneeling on the floor beside the bed. "I'm here, darling, I'm here," he said. Brushing sweat-soaked curls away from her face, he cradled her cheeks in his palms. She grasped at one of his wrists, but her grip was so weak that he could hardly feel it.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and then she began to cough, blood spilling from her mouth as her chest heaved. When nobody rushed to help her, Robert turned around. His daughters, Dr. Clarkson, and O'Brien stood around the bed, their faces all set with the same infuriating mixture of horror and sympathy.

"Someone do something!" he yelled.

"There's nothing to be done." Clarkson stepped forward and laid a hand on Robert's shoulder.

Robert's fear made him savage, incapable of rational thought. "What do you mean "nothing"? You're a doctor, you bastard, help her!"

When Clarkson only stared at him, Robert turned back to Cora. She was panting hard, her face a sickly grey. It looked as though she were trying to speak, but no sound would come out. The effort brought forth a series of small, pitiful coughs.

"Shh, darling. I'm right here." He smoothed a hand over her hair.

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. "I love you," she whimpered.

Robert knew suddenly that this was the last time he would ever hear those words from her. Before he could respond, she gave one last, shuddering breath and fell back against the pillows. He waited for her to inhale again. She did not. The realization of what that meant hit him like a train. Taking her face in his hands again, he began to sob so violently he felt as if his chest would collapse. Someone was calling his name, but he couldn't care, couldn't look away from Cora's vacant eyes, couldn't take his hands from her even as her skin grew cold under his touch. He stared down at the blood that covered them both and knew it was his lifeblood just as much as hers. The shouting continued; no doubt they wanted him to move away from Cora so the coroner could take her body away, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't let them take her. What was he to do, when she was gone? What life was there for him without Cora?

"Robert? Robert! Robert!"

With a painful gasp, Robert was no longer kneeling on the floor. He was sitting up on his side of the bed, trembling and casting his eyes wildly around the room. After a terrifying moment his gaze landed on Cora's concerned face, illuminated in the lamplight. She was healthy now. A bit older, perhaps groggy after being roused from sleep, but otherwise unharmed. It had been nearly seven years since her illness, he realized. "Oh, thank God," he murmured, scrubbing his hands across his face.

"Robert?" Cora asked softly. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

They were no stranger to nightmares; between the wars, Sybil, and Robert's own recent health scare, they each had their fair share of bad dreams. There was no shame in it anymore, only a desire to be soothed in the way that only they could do for one another. Occasionally one of them would want to rehash the details of their dream before going back to sleep, but more often they would simply rest in the other's arms until they drifted off again. Robert didn't much feel like talking tonight, and so he shook his head.

Cora smiled sympathetically and held her arms open for him. He embraced her fiercely, squeezing a bit harder than was probably comfortable for her. Yet she did not seem to mind, gripping him with surprising strength as she kissed his cheek.

"You're alright, my darling." Cora rubbed his back in warm, reassuring circles. "I've got you."

Robert could only nod. He dropped his head to her shoulder, inhaling her beautifully familiar scent in an attempt to steady his breathing. It worked, as it always did, and after a few moments of her gentle ministrations he felt his trembling ease. Soon he was calm enough that his eyelids grew heavy and he stifled a yawn.

Cora laughed. "Let's get you back to sleep."

She guided him to lie on his left side and curled herself around him. Her palm settled protectively on his abdomen, directly across his scar. She did that often when they lay together and he loved her for it, loved her for the almost unconscious way she sought to remind them both that he was safe.

"I love you," she said, as if she had read his mind. Her voice was slightly muffled, her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades.

He thought briefly of his dream, of a time in their marriage when he had been wholly undeserving of her love. But that was years ago; he had since vowed to spend the rest of their lives making himself worthy, even if he fell short every now and again. "I love you too," he replied, and the way she cuddled closer to him told him that his efforts were well worth it.

Robert stayed awake long after he heard the faint sigh that told him Cora had fallen asleep, relishing the press of her stomach against his back with every breath. He listened to her soft snores - although he vehemently denied that she snored any time she asked - and thought to himself that there was no better sound in the world.