Let's get emotional, shall we? After all - if you're still here, that's likely what you're here for anyway ;)(Come for the romance, stay for the pain and such xD)

Chapter 8

On the next afternoon, at four o clock sharp, Margaret stood on the front porch of the millhouse, a basket dangling from her arm, as she looked over to her husband's office, waiting for him to join her.

Not two minutes later, the office door opened and he made his way over to her. He looked up at her and gave her a silent nod, to which she descended the steps into the yard and linked her arm with his, as he led her out through the gates onto Marlborough Street.

Neither of them spoke much while they were walking. She tried inquiring about his work and the mill a few times, only to be met with very brief answers, which nipped every attempt at a conversation right in the bud.

The further they walked, the more terrible she felt. She threw glances at him from the side, noticing that he seemed uncommonly pale and appeared preoccupied, lost in thought. "John." She stopped walking, halting his own steps in the process, as she turned to face him. "You don't have to do this, you know?" "Do what?" "Come with me."

He pressed his lips into a tight line and looked at her almost defiantly. "I told you I would come, and I will keep my word." With that he resumed walking, dragging her with him in the process.

It did not take them long to reach the stone steps, leading down into Princeton. They walked along the sooty, narrow alley, passing the haggard figures of begging men and women. Margaret took out her purse and handed them coins, while John stood beside her, looking away from them determinedly.

He seemed beyond uncomfortable, his hands deep in his pockets, as he rocked back and forth on his heels, while he was waiting for her to finish speaking to a woman who was sitting on the side of the street.

As they continued making their way down the street, she saw his gaze dart about, lingering a couple of times on the dirty brick buildings, straying down some of the alleys they were passing. Once, as she was about to turn a corner, to take a shortcut to Francis Street, he grabbed her arm, practically yanking her back. She looked up into his face, only to see him shake his head firmly. "Not there", he murmured. "Let's take another route."

She shot him a questioning look. "There is an opium den down this way", he muttered. "Better not risk running into one of the customers." Margaret swallowed. She did not know much about these things, but enough to make her skin crawl. She had walked down that particular alley many times in the past, but had never realized.

"Are you sure it is still there? I mean – it has been a while since you…" she broke off, not knowing how to continue. He looked straight ahead with a grim expression, as he dragged her with him one more. "I'm positive, Margaret. I passed it when I went to Higgins that day to hire him."

Once again, she felt incredibly gullible and naïve toward the ugly reality of this place. Could she really blame him for worrying about her?

She was glad when they reached Francis Street and Mary opened the door for them. She seemed quite stunned to find none other than Mr. Thornton at her doorstep, but quickly let them enter.

They took a seat at the table and the children quickly gathered around them as Margaret withdrew little treats and trinkets and a book for Tommy from her basket. She talked to Mary for a while, as the little ones played with their dollies. John sat in silence, letting his eyes wander about the room, quite apparently longing to be somewhere…anywhere…else.

For his sake, Margaret made sure to keep the visit brief, staying only a little over half an hour, before taking her leave and letting him lead her back home.

He was rather quiet for the rest of the evening, and when they retired to the bedroom later, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, before turning his back to her, murmuring that he was tired and needed to get some rest.

This was a rare occurrence in their marriage, and Margaret felt a pang of disappointment, but knew better than to push him. She carefully placed a hand on his shoulder blade, covered by his nightshirt.

"Are you alright?", she whispered. He only gave a curt nod, but as she moved closer to him and wrapped her arm around him from behind, he did not pull away. She buried her face in the nape of his neck and closed her eyes.

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A loud yelp near her ear jolted Margaret out of her sleep. She shot up into a sitting position with a startled gasp, looking about herself confusedly. It took her a few seconds to realize that the sound had come from her husband – and there was something very wrong with him.

He was writhing under the bedsheets, his body shaking violently, his breath coming in heavy pants. Instantly her hands were on him, grabbing his upper arms, as her eyes tried to make out his face in the dark. At that moment, he cried out again loudly, making her jump.

"John!", she called out in fear, shaking him lightly. Was he in pain? Was he sick? What was happening? She saw him throw his head from one side to the other, once more bellowing something incoherent. She put the back of her hand against his forehead only to find it slick with perspiration, his hair clinging to his skin.

"NOOO! PLEASE! DON'T!", he wailed, jerking about, flailing his arms. Margaret had to duck to avoid being hit accidentally. "JOHN!", she yelled, grabbing hold of him once more, shaking him frantically. "John! Please wake up! Wake up! It is only a dream!"

He did not respond to her attempts to wake him, trashing around deliriously, as if he was having a fever attack. His face was wet with sweat and tears. She had never witnessed anything like this. It was so violent that it downright scared her. "John! Please! I beg you!" She felt tears in her own eyes, as she desperately wrapped her arms around him tightly in an attempt to stop him from shivering.

And then, with one last violent jolt, his eyes flew open and he stared up at her, or rather – through her, as if he did not recognize her at all. "John!", she whispered through her tears, bringing her hands to his cheeks to cradle his face. "My God, you almost scared me to death!"

She held him, as he lay like this for a while, still gasping for breath, while his senses slowly returned. Eventually, he shakily straightened himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard of the bed.

"I'm sorry", he murmured in a weak voice. "I did not mean to wake you." "Wake me?!", she gasped. "John! I don't care if you wake me! It does not matter! What matters is that you are obviously in great distress! Pray, what happened? Was it a nightmare?"

He made no answer, stubbornly focusing his eyes on the canopy above them. But this time Margaret had finally had enough.

"John! You will talk to me!" She grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. "This stops now!", she told him decidedly. "I have let this slip for months. I promised not to push you and I have not. I have stood by and watched you walking around with that pain in your eyes, always hoping you would talk to me eventually. But I will wait no longer. Whatever this is, you will tell me now."

He looked at her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked scared out of his wits. "We are having a baby, John", she whispered, her eyes boring into his without blinking. "This child needs you. I need you. I need us to work through this, however hard it may be. We'll do it together." Her hand came to rest against his cheek, as she pleaded with him. "Don't be afraid!"

"Don't be afraid!" And as he was sitting there, his shirt clinging to his body with sweat, his emotions still in turmoil from the dream, her warm, gentle hand against his skin, her loving gaze, pleading with him, he knew that there was no escape.

It was the thing he had feared from the very first moment she had touched her lips to his, her love threatening to shatter him into a million pieces. He felt weak, exhausted from holding everything in.

Walking through Princeton today had triggered so many things inside him. He had seen it all right before him, as if he was a boy again, fighting for his life in that godforsaken place, never truly able to escape it, even with the physical distance he had upheld for years. He could not go on now.

He would lose himself in the darkness, he was sure of it, and yet, he knew he could not refuse her. Not when she looked at him like this.

He felt dizzy, his heart hammered against his ribcage in panic. He felt the words rise like bile in his throat, just about to spill out of him. He focused his eyes on hers, an anchor in an endless stormy sea, raging inside him and took a deep breath – and then, after fighting so hard for years – John let go.

He fell forward, collapsing against her. His arms came around her, clinging to her, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He felt the tears come, and did not fight them, as he opened his mouth and let the words burst forth, unable to control them.

"I'm afraid, Margaret! I'm so afraid! How can I be a father? I have failed everyone I loved! I was supposed to take care of my family, and they died! I could not save them! What if I fail our child? What if I fail you? What if – what if I lose you both?"

His body trembled against hers, his voice coming out in agonizing sobs. Margaret sat completely still, feeling almost paralyzed, as she held on to him for dear life. The amount of pain that seemed to flow from him in waves shocked her.

"I cannot remember my father's face when he was alive, Margaret!", he breathed into her neck. It was something he had never confessed to anyone, too scared of it to ever speak of it aloud.

"I remember walking with him, spending time with him in his shop, sitting on his lap, as he sang nursery rhymes to me. But when I try to remember his face – I can't! All I ever see is…" he gasped for breath, his arms tightening around her, "the way he looked – that day..."

"That day when I came home from school and he – he was sitting in his chair in front of the fireplace, with his back turned to me. I called out to him and he did not answer, and when I stepped closer, I – my god Margaret! I saw him sitting there, with his eyes wide open. Empty. His face white as a sheet and there was – there was blood everywhere. It was all over the floor. He had slit his arms. All the way down from the crooks of his arms to his wrists. And I just stood there, Margaret. I just stood and stared for God knows how long. I could not move. I could not speak. I could not speak for weeks. And even now, I can see it – sometimes when I close my eyes, it's all there. All the details, as if they were burned right into my eyes to haunt me forever."

His tears flowed freely now, as he sobbed with the despair of a small boy who, for the first time since that day, let himself cry for his innocence lost. She held his head close to her chest, her hand stroking his hair, her own tears threatening to choke her. She forced herself to remain silent, to give him the space he needed to grieve for everything that had been taken from him.

A few minutes passed in silence, which was only punctured by sobs and an occasional gasp for breath. Eventually, he drew a shaky breath and then more words came. His voice was quieter now, exhausted.

"He was not a bad man, you know. He cared for us. He was a loving father, a good husband, he was good at his business. Then, one day, one of his friends talked him into joining him in a card game at the pub. And he won. He kept winning at first. I remember him coming home really proud. He bought me a new set of clothes and toys for Fanny..."

"But it went to his head. He went there again and again - and then he started losing. He lost way more often than he won. But he would keep going, trying to get back the money he had lost. He started borrowing money from friends, and he lost it. Then he would start coming home drunk, and he would fight with my mother and make her cry. She started selling our things to put food on the table. Her jewellery, our silverware, many things. And then, one day he just – " he broke off with a choking sob, unwilling to continue that trail of thought.

"He was a good man, Margaret. A caring man. He loved us and yet, he failed us. My mother always used to say I looked like him, and it's true. Whenever I look in the mirror, I can see him there and I wonder – I wonder how much of him I carry inside myself. It's what kept me fighting all these years. I needed to get out of there, get out of this wretched place he had put us in. I needed to prove to myself that I was not like him. That I would not fail..."

"And then – I did. I'm just like him, Margaret. Like him, I was ready to throw it all away and end it, and had it not been for you, I would have. How can I be sure that I won't fail you? Fail our child? How can I be sure that you won't both die on me, like my mother and sister did?"

"Oh John", she whispered to him painfully. "It was not your fault. You were all sick. You almost died yourself!" "But I did not!", he choked out. "How could I survive while my baby sister did not? She should have lived, Margaret. I wish I would have gone in her place!"

Margaret's breath caught in utter shock at his words. "No!", she cried out, pressing him to her shakily.

"Good god, John, don't do this to yourself! You deserved to live! You needed to live! I thank God every day that you did! Just think of how many lives you have touched with yours. The mill! All the workers who owe their livelihoods to you! And I – John where would I be without you?"

Her hand found his in the dark, drawing it towards her body to place it against her belly. "And this", she whispered. "We made this, John. We created life! A tiny human who would not be here if it had not been for you. How can you think the world would have been better off without you?"

He made no reply, but she felt his fingers flexing lightly against her belly, his hand warming her skin through her nightgown. The side of her neck was wet with his tears, as she held his head there, her fingers still caressing the dark curls of his hair.

"And you are not like your father", she told him softly. "Watson's speculation. You did not take part in it, as all the only mill owners of Milton did. Why?" He did not answer. "Why John? Tell me!", she urged him. He drew a breath. "Because it was a gamble. There is nothing certain about these schemes", he muttered eventually.

"Exactly!", she stated. "You knew better than to risk the livelihoods of your workers for the chance to make profit. It was a lot of money. It must have been tempting." He shook his head against her shoulder almost violently. "I would never have!"

She bent her head to press her lips to his cheek, bringing her mouth close to his ear. "How can you say you are like your father then? You are not. You learned from his mistakes, John."

She grasped his head and gently pulled it away from her body to look at him, trying to make out his features in the dark. His eyes looked swollen from his tears, his lips parted, his breath laboured from all those strong emotions which were shaking him.

"You are the best man I have known", she told him. "And I trust you with my life! Nothing is going to happen, John. We are right here with you. We are not going anywhere!"

She closed the distance between them to kiss the tears away from his cheeks and felt him shudder under her touch. It was incomprehensible to her how he could have held all of this in for so long. She could scarcely begin to imagine what it must have done to him. How was he going to heal from this?

She gently nudged him to lie down on his back, and he complied, too worn out to utter another word. She huddled up to him, her head on his chest, her arms around him. "Tell me what to do", she heard herself whisper. "How can I ever ease this pain, John?"

She felt his hand coming up to the back of her head to stroke her hair. Seconds ticked by in silence. "Just stay with me", he murmured then. She nuzzled her face into his chest, breathing him in. "I will!", she told him earnestly. "I will, forever!"

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He did not close his eyes that night. He lay in silence and listened to her breathing even out, as sleep eventually claimed her, her face still buried in his chest, right next to the open collar of his nightshirt, a soft warm breeze caressing his bare skin with every breath she released.

He felt completely drained, exhausted, as if he had run for miles, his body strangely numb, his mind empty. As the minutes ticked into hours, he realized with a pang that he was still there. He had not drowned. He was right here and she was with him.

He had let go of his control, had given in to the abyss, and she had held him through it, never once letting go. She had saved him.

And as dawn broke and the sun slowly rose above Milton, bathing the countless brick chimneys in its faint, orange glow, John felt like he was finally able to breathe. It was as if a crushing weight had been lifted from his chest. A weight he had been so used to, that he had not even noticed it being there anymore. It was only now, that it was gone, that he realized how light and free he suddenly felt without it.

His beautiful wife stirred in his arms, her sleepy face glowing in the morning light, as she blinked up at him. He held the back of her head and bent his head to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. He let his lips linger on her skin for a beautiful eternity. Margaret gave a content little sigh, and when he finally drew back, she looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

"John? Are you alright?", she whispered uncertainly, as the memories of last night came flooding back. He smiled at her. There was something different about his smile. He looked – relieved. As if something inside him had finally loosened. Could it be? She scarcely dared to hope.

"Yes, Margaret", he told her, unable to wipe the smile off his face. "I think I am. Thanks to you."

She felt her emotions well up inside her once more, as she slowly dragged herself up and brought her face close to his. For a long, tantalizing moment, she halted, her lips only inches from his, letting their warm breaths mingle, before bowing down and sinking…deeper and deeper…into his kiss, as everything else seemed to dissolve around them.