Much of the night was pretty boring, a couple concussions, minor lacerations etc. Nothing too stressful or serious, Carter was still fuming over the incident with Pratt, he was a good doctor, he didn't need their solemn stares or hushed worried tones, he could handle it.
He put on his coat quickly, hoping to avoid everyone. He slipped out, not unnoticed, but unapproached. He could feel their eyes upon him.
It was just like before.
He drove home quietly, and entered his house. Kem came out of the bedroom, her face streaked with the silver remnants of tears, she clutched a baby rug to her chest, she didn't look him in the eyes.
"How was your day?" He asked, knowing what her reply would be.
"Good" came the empty response.
He waited; she just stared at the floor and wrung the blanket in her tiny, effeminate hands, which had done so much good before. He wanted to yell at her, shake her, to hold her and tell her that he loved her and that everything was going to be okay, but he didn't. He just looked at her with tired eyes.
He shook his head and muttered, "Good? Good." As he walked out of the room, leaving Kem to waste away, to bury herself next to her baby.
He crawled into bed, too exhausted to eat anything, but he was beyond sleep. He remembered nights when he had stared at the ceiling all night long until one of the servants came to wake him; he had thought that those days were behind him, it had been what, 4 years now? Funny how history had a way of repeating itself. Maybe his life was just fated to be one big tragedy.
Finally after 5 hours of staring at one spot on the ceiling he fell asleep. Alone. He woke up three hours later and he considered staying in bed and trying to sleep, but when he rolled over and realised that the other side of the bed was undisturbed he got up, it wasn't something that uncommon of late, but it still worried him, he wasn't that far gone yet.
He pulled his robe over his body, which ached with lost sleep. He walked down the hallway and past the nursery, which he had never finished painting.
He hadn't been in there since...since he had rushed from the nursery with Kem, filled with fear, but still hoping that their baby was fine, that nothing was wrong.
He went back to the nursery door and paused, he pushed the door open hesitantly. He took a breath and closed his eyes before taking a step inside.
It was so quiet.
Everything was just as he had left it. The paint can still on the floor in the corner, the brush beside it, dried paint splattered on the floor. He shuffled over to the corner, drawn to it. The final brushstroke he had made was still there. Mocking him, his baby was alive to him then. He grazed his fingers over the brushwork, staring absently at the hue of robin's egg blue. He choked on his emotions before finally collapsing into shuddering sobs.