Maria gave an involuntary wince. The treatments weren't painful, but they were uncomfortable and more than a little bit daunting. Probably no more so than any other high risk pregnancy, but the stakes here were so much greater—it was hard not to let some of that anxiety affect her. This was her last act, the most important thing she'd done with her short life.
This was her defiance.
Papa didn't know yet, he didn't seem to suspect that the treatments she received were anything beyond a genetic 'fix' for the disease that was crippling her. The fiction had to be maintained as long as possible, or else the child would have no chance. Her hope would die before even getting a chance to live, and the seed of the rebellion she and Hiroshi dreamed of planting would be lost forever.
No, it was hard not to be affected by what she was doing. But more than that, she harbored secret dreams. Beyond all that they planned for this child and despite the burden they expected her to bear, Maria prayed that her daughter might grow up happy.