The crowd of people who strolled happily and distractedly on the Pont Marie that spring morning, would have constituted a perfect agglomeration of personalities, ethnicities and social classes, from which Rose used to take inspiration to give voice and shape to the main protagonists of her new novels. However, the girl was too busy peeking at her editor's corrections to a short, hundred-page story written a few months earlier. His massive, heavy handwriting burst upon her feminine and graceful one. Suddenly, she wondered if there was still room in the world for pretty things. Finally, a boat on the Seine caught her attention, making her look away from the papers she held in her hands. A little girl on the right bank of the river was waving her little chubby hand as the boat passed. Her laughter echoed down the street, making the adults smile too. Paris was the city of art par excellence, its artistic avant-garde had given high hopes to her dreams as a writer, and it seemed the perfect place to whet Jack's talent. Their home was located in a secluded area of Montmartre, a large hill in Paris's 18th arrondissement. Jack loved to spend his time observing and portraying passersby in Place du Tertre, while he waited for his Rose to arrive with a basket of vegetables from the market and a couple of books under her arm. Usually, she would sit on the stool in front of him, and she would pretend to be a costumer.
"My husband wants to hang my pretty face over the fireplace"
"I'll do my best, Mademoiselle".
"He didn't like it" Jack looked up from the canvas, and met her beautiful blue eyes.
"He'll never publish it"
Rose was exhausted, the black bags under her eyes were more visible than ever in the morning sun. Jack had begged her to stay in bed that morning since she wasn't feeling well, bust she hadn't listened to him, determined to go on with her day as usual.
"How are you?" Rose kissed him on the mouth
"It's just a belly ache, I'll be fine",
"Sit down for a few minutes. Rest while I arrange my charcoals, we're going home".
"Already?" She asked arching her eyebrows,
"Already. I wanna cuddle my wife" Rose laughed and her cheeks mimicked the color of her hair.
"Can I see?" Rose nodded and handed her manuscript to her husband. Both of them had the bad habit of reading books, leaflets, and even correspondence as they walked the streets of Paris. A artist's life was too busy to stop even for a second. The streets were gradually emptying, as Parisians were holing up in inns or in their homes for lunch and a short afternoon break.
"I think he'll publish it. He's just throwing a tantrum. There're no major fixes".
"I hope you're right".
Their house was bathed in the midday sun, warm at last in those fine spring days. Roy, a puppy with a honey-colored coat and a pink nose, welcomed his owners as soon as they returned home by wagging his tail in the air, and begging for tender strokes on his muzzle. Jack reached down and stroked the puppy, while Rose walked past the two and disappeared into the house."I'm gonna start cooking lunch" Jack declared aloud, wondering what his wife was doing. The house was silent, the only sounds one could hear were Roy trotting on the floor, and Jack looking for the right pot in the , he heard something, Roy pricked his ears and listened; a slight moan and a strangled cry was heard from the bathroom of their master bedroom."Rose, is everything alright?" Asked Jack arching his eyebrows. His voice echoed in the empty adjoining rooms. Jack left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom, where, he was sure, his wife's cries had come from. Their puppy, who had followed the man faithfully, began scratching at the door, begging Jack to open hand was already on the doorknob, when Rose emerged from the bathroom with eyes swollen with tears and a pale complexion. Little Roy sniffed at her new skirt, and left them alone in the hall."I failed again, I thought maybe this t-time… I-I was late". Rose's words hit Jack in the heart like a gunshot. He wanted to scream, but he knew Rose needed support, and not a scene.
It wasn't fair, God no it wasn't.
They had been trying for months, and despite Rose's desire to be a mother, and Jack's desire to be a father, their family still consisted of just two people and a loving little dog. Rose often dreamed of a little girl with blond pigtails and sky-colored eyes, yet she had never carried life inside of her. Jack was silent and took Rose into his strong arms. Lunch was forgotten, at that moment nothing mattered more than his wife and that life they longed so much to have.