It's been two months since I found out I was pregnant. He doesn't know, because I won't let him find out, at least not yet. There's a small mound right below my stomach and it seems to get bigger every day.

I don't know why I don't get rid of the child, what have I got to offer it? But something keeps me from doing so, and I don't dwell on it.

I've started speaking again, but my voice sounds cracked and husky from lack of use. He doesn't mind, but I think there's more to that.

I've caught him looking at me like he's trying to reveal a mystery, or solve a puzzle. And there's another look in his eyes that seem soft and tender, and I wonder if he knows about the baby growing in my belly.

I am dressing when he comes into my room without notice and I quickly hide my stomach from him. He looks down, and back up, and then back down again, before his eyes lock with mine.

"Are you pregnant?" he demands.

I just stare at him, unable to answer.

"Well?" he asks loudly, and I flinch.

"Whose baby is it? Whose?"

I jump before going over to my bed and standing beside it, putting a barrier between us.

He notices, and he effectively traps me by coming around the bed to stand in front of me.

"You best tell me, woman, before I do something I regret." He says it in a fierce whisper, one I've never heard him use before.

I stare up at him, knowing fear is in my eyes, and he growls before throwing me on the bed.

He pins me under him, only me not clothed, and glares at me like I've done some horrible crime. He'll rape me, I know it, and he'll make me lose the child. The very thought brings tears to my eyes and makes them slide down the sides of my cheeks into my hair.

I see his gaze soften for one moment before reverting back to its coldness.

I find somewhere in my heart to speak, because I know if I don't, then I'm going to lose the baby, and perhaps I'll die as well. "Get off of me," I whisper.

"What?" he asks.

"Get off of me," I say, looking up at him with determination in my eyes. "And let me get dressed, and then I'll tell you."

He complies but stands closely to me as I put on robes, as if I have some weapon to hurt him with.

I sit back on the bed tracing the pattern with my gaze. "I'm pregnant," I finally say. "Two months and two weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands.

I find the courage to glare at him. "Why? Because you'd demand that I kill the baby, that's why. Or marry you so you won't have an illegitimate child. What choice did I have, honestly?" It's the most I've spoken since I came here, maybe because I had no need before.

"We are getting married," he said abruptly. "The latter reason you were absolutely correct. That's the end of the story."

"We are not," I whisper. "Because if you try to force me to marry you, I'll leave before I have this baby, I swear I will. And I'll raise it alone, just like I was planning to do."

"And do what?" he asks. "Become a Knockturn Alley slag again? Something you already are?"

I feel the pain pierce through my heart as he calls me what I already know I am. A whore, someone who gets paid to have sex, to do what anyone wants. I look away, resigned, defeated.

"Get out," I whisper brokenly.

He leaves without a word and slams the door for effect.