A/N: Welcome to my new story, the sequel to Butterfly in a Glass Jar! I'm planning for this story to be a few chapters long, possibly up to 10 total, but I'm still outlining the ending. I hope you enjoy it!

Again, I meant to have this uploaded sooner than in reality. To be honest, I have a major life transition going on right now, and to cope with that I may need to step away from writing for a little while. (I feel as if I need a break anyway.) I have three chapters of this story already written, but after that, uploading will be more sporadic for my currently in progress stories. I love this community, and it holds a special place in my heart and always will; I just need to focus on my professional life a bit more right now. Thank you for understanding! (And my PMs are always open if you'd like to pop in and chat.)

Love always,

Lady Elena Dawson

Broken Wings

By Lady Elena Dawson

August 1916

The ceramic dish shone as Rose took a sponge to its reflective surface, mesmerized by its luster. Since last month, she'd found a stronger hold in the present, a desire to be as in-the-moment as one could possibly be. She reveled in quiet times like these, when she got to move her attention away to something insignificant instead of constantly being on alert. Despite being near exhausted on her feet, her ankles shaking as if they might give out, she discovered serenity in menial tasks like washing the dishes; it helped her when she found herself unable to sleep.

She started to hum, whisper-singing the few words she could recall of a song she'd heard when she and Jack went out the other week. It was a recent hit (she couldn't remember the name) that was bringing cheer to the war-infested world. (Yet one reason why Rose couldn't sleep: she read the papers every morning.) With self-made music and repetitive work on her mind, she could have forgotten that she was living in a new home further from the coast of Santa Monica, the only place they'd been able to afford.

Letting out a content sigh, Rose picked up another plate to scrub. Not too late after that, though, her blissful humming and intense focus on the dirty dishes was broken by a piercing cry.

Sighing (not content this time), she put the clean plate she'd just finished washing aside and grabbed a towel, wiping off her soapy hands. Having a second baby wasn't a surprise like the first one, but the demands of a newborn were always present. She moved away from her mindless safehaven and rushed to the crib.

"Oh, Michael," she whispered, flustered, as she leaned over and picked up the baby, cradling him in her arms. "Why can't you sleep for more than an hour?"

Just because she was experiencing difficulty falling asleep, no matter how worn down she felt, didn't mean that she didn't want some peace and quiet. Michael, his ocean-blue eyes once swarming with tears, started to calm down the moment Rose picked him up. She sighed in relief; maybe all he needed was some attention, and then she could return to her day. If he needed to be fed, well, she just wasn't in the mood.

She found herself not in the mood most of the time, especially recently. A deep part of her, one that she refused to acknowledge out of fear, wondered what her life would be like if she didn't have a second baby. At the same time, she loved Michael more than words could describe, and experienced the same feelings that came from Jo's birth. But lately, she'd just been feeling...out of it.

As Michael was soothed to sleep in Rose's arms, Jack walked in at that moment, having returned from the bar. "Hey," he whispered as he appeared at the door, watching as Rose set the baby down. He could read the distress in her face despite it veering on expressionless. "How are you?"

"Fine," Rose sighed, closing the door behind them so they could lift their voices up. "Just got interrupted while doing the dishes."

"And Jo?" he said.

"Also napping." Rose glanced at the clock above the doorframe of their kitchen. "Though she should be awake any minute now."

Just as Rose said that, little footsteps were heard in the room next to them, and Jo popped her head out with her auburn curls all tangled. "Papa?" she said while rubbing her eyes, adjusting to the afternoon light.

"There's my girl," Jack said, shifting his attention to Jo and away from the fatigued, overwhelmed Rose. Rose smiled as she watched Jack encase Jo in a hug, lifting her up in the air. At least their daughter was easy to manage, going to sleep when they asked her to and only requesting a bedtime story every now and then if she wasn't sleepy. She played well on her own, though she was excited to have a baby brother to play with. When Rose could find some solace and read a book, she'd often set an awakened Michael down in a basket at her feet, and Jo would try to play with him despite his clueless face. She'd have to remind Jo that her brother wasn't old enough yet to play, but she could talk to him if she wanted. Oh, the conversations she'd overheard from those times… "What's it like to be a baby?" had almost made Rose laugh herself to tears.

As Jo dragged Jack into her room to show him whatever toys she'd scattered around, Rose returned to the kitchen and her relaxing, repetitive task. She hummed herself into relief, cleaning dish after dish until the sink was empty. After that, she wished she'd had more to do.

Rose could remember the day she'd found out she was pregnant again as if it was the other day.

Reading a book was a challenge after returning from the doctor with news in hand. Rose knew this because she was trying to distract her mind from the appointment earlier in the day by reading a book she'd been enjoying, but found herself re-reading the same paragraph multiple times.

Isn't Jack supposed to be home by now? Her mind wandered, thinking about Jack – about how she was going to tell him, and his reaction once he knew. She'd kept the doctor's appointment quiet, fearing that her intuition might be incorrect, but once she was confirmed to be carrying a baby, she rushed home to tell Jack – forgetting that he was at work until six.

Any minute now...

When she heard the door open, Rose perked up and set her book aside, rushing to meet Jack at the door.

"Hi...," he said as he saw her approaching, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a sweet kiss. Though Jack was familiar with Rose's greetings at the door, this one was filled with more passion than before. "I'm not complaining, but... What was that all about?"

She kept a hand on his chest, her finger playing with the buttons on his shirt. "I have some news..." She took a deep breath; she still couldn't believe she was saying this. "I'm pregnant."

The news, though surprising, was not a shock, given the plan they'd concocted not too long ago. He pulled her closer to him, hugging her waist. "I knew something was different about you. You're glowing." Indeed, there was a natural vibrance to Rose's features, along with a flush that came with the unadulterated excitement of such news.

"You're just saying that to flatter me…"

But then, like a light switch, her mood had shifted. The following morning after the announcement, she'd woken up feeling unsettled in her own skin. Maybe it was just the nausea, but… How could something so innocent and joyous be tainted by anxiety?

Rose's hand rested over her abdomen, flat but already swollen by an imperceptible bulge. Her mind kept swirling with a question she dreaded asking. When Jack returned to the bedroom, having gotten her some toast and a glass of orange juice, she confessed, "What if I'm not ready to have another baby?"

Every time the baby was in distress of some kind, Rose answered his cries. But there were times when she didn't want to. Times when she wanted to stay in bed, the heavy weight that she was, and just sleep. For how long? At least until Michael was a toddler. Maybe then, she'd have more energy and affection for him. But she kept taking care of him, her heartstring still pulling. Call it motherly instinct or just plain guilt. Sometimes, Rose had no idea what she was feeling, other than she felt disturbed by it.

These thoughts she kept having were killing a part of her every day. As she rested in bed that morning, she breathed slow, shallow breaths while trying to relax. Her toes were on pins and needles as she awaited for the baby to call for her again; she'd already been up all night. But no cry came.

As Rose rolled over in bed, alone, she thought back to a time that was sweeter than this one: she and Jack lying together after the initial excitement of Rose's news wore off.

"What are you thinking about?" Jack whispered while his hand got caught in her wild hair, splayed across his chest.

Rose smiled; she couldn't stop smiling since she'd found out, despite her reservations. "What this baby is going to look like," she said. Her hand, resting on his chest, caressed his soft shirt. "I'm thinking… Blue-green eyes, blond hair."

"Boy or girl?"

A flutter took over Rose's stomach, so much so that her hand had to move over her belly to settle it down. Was a baby really growing in there? "Boy," she said, matter-of-fact.

"I'm going to say another girl then." Jack's arm, wrapped around her back, pulled her closer to him. "Can you believe it? We're having another baby."

Rose curled up on his shoulder, her head resting in the crook of his warm neck. She sighed, perfectly content. "No, I hardly can."

After fifteen minutes of her breath getting caught in her chest, she started her trek of getting up for the day. First, she threw the blanket off of her and rested for another five minutes, just staring at the ceiling. Then she threw her legs over the side of the bed and raised herself up with much exertion. After resting her feet on the cold floor for another few minutes, she stood up – and for a moment, she let herself be amazed by how she was standing despite how weighty she felt, like something large was pressing down on her shoulders and a rock was lodged in her stomach.

Step after step, she grabbed her robe and made her way to the kitchen. Opening the bedroom door, her nose was assaulted by the smell of bacon and eggs. To her own surprise, Jack was making breakfast while Jo sat at the table with her drawing pad and Michael rested, wide awake with his eyes that always looked like they were in awe, in his basket. When was the last time she'd been so distanced from her family, that Jack had handled everything?

A bottle of formula sat on the counter, and that's when Rose learned just how Jack had accomplished such a feat that morning. She sighed in relief, her anxiety dropping out of the sky for just a minute. Her exhalation was audible enough for Jack to hear it. He turned around with the skillet in hand and smiled at her. "There she is," he said as if it was her birthday and she was late to the party.

"Mama!" Jo exclaimed when she saw Rose, jumping out of her seat and encasing Rose's legs in a hug. Taken aback, Rose didn't return the embrace until a few seconds later, and Jo reached up her hand and pulled for her to move towards the table. "Look! I drew something!"

Rose admired the drawing – what it was of, she had no idea – and displayed a semi-faux grin. "It's, um… It's beautiful, Jo," she said, and when her eyes darted from the abstract drawing to her son, her heart rate picked up. "So, uh, what's for breakfast?"

"Eggs, bacon, and toast, your favorite," Jack said as he set the fresh plate of cooked eggs on the table. "C'mon, take a seat."

Taking the chair next to Jo and across from Michael, Rose stared back into her baby's bright blue eyes, and a shiver took over her spine. Was it love? She wondered as Jack set down the rest of their breakfast and sat in the last chair next to Michael.

As Jack fixed a plate for Jo, who started laughing loud enough to split an eardrum over something Jack told her, Rose kept darting back and forth between the plates and Michael's mesmerizing eyes. She knew that, despite whatever muck she was feeling, she loved her family more than anything – and that was all she could be sure of then.