Greg lay in bed, grimacing.
The room was quiet, aside from the sound of Molly retching into the loo.
Throwing the covers off, he arose, padding his way into the bathroom. He sighed, feeling like a bit of a bastard, even though he knew fully that Molly wanted this as much as he did.
He leaned down briefly, kissing her hair, then promised, "Be right back, Love."
Returning, he set a stack of soda crackers by the bedside, and a can of club soda. Stopping at the linen closet, he grabbed a cloth.
"Don't think I don't appreciate what you're going through, sweetheart," he promised gently, as he kneeled down next to her, and gathered her hair back into an elastic tie. Molly smiled through her nausea as he cooled her brow with the wet cloth.
"It's temporary. And it's not your fault, Greg. I had a part in this too, remember." She raised her head, her misery having passed for the moment.
"Perhaps you might remind me?" he teased, sensing her pending recovery.
"Well, we'd briefly talked of a baby, but at the time it was just… whimsy," she started.
Greg raised his hand, cradling her head. "Then we got a bit… fond of the notion."
"Yes," Molly smiled. "I'm still fond, though."
"Well," he promised, "that makes us both."