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I couldn't remember if I had perhaps not taken very good care of myself during my first pregnancy—I had mostly ignored it, from what I recalled—but I became absolutely determined to make this the most well cared-for baby before it was even born.

I hardly even hesitated this time. As soon as I guessed—as soon as it even dawned upon me—I went straight to Erik and sobbed.

He was completely silent while I cried my heart out on his shoulder that night. Not even Erik could assuage my fears. What if… what I killed this baby, too?

My son would have been a year old now, being able to take tiny steps and babbling little words. It was too difficult to picture, too unbelievable for me. But he could have had that life, but it was taken away from him. From me. Because of me.

If this baby dies, then that would be enough to show that there must be something wrong with me. I am not meant to have a child. And I am selfish for thinking that I am.

Why am I suddenly so drawn to this child? I love children, but I sometimes don't think I would be quite a good mother. Maybe a fond auntie, the one who plays nicely until Mother comes to take the children home. I can do that. But to be the mother of my child? To have to scold them, to raise them, to love them?

Perhaps I am not meant to be a mother.

And I so want to be!

Erik tried to comfort me, but his words were empty of reassurances, and I can tell her has the same fears I do. He seems to fear more for me, and it is not an empty fear; if this innocent baby is put to death again because of me, I will surely lose my mind!

During the first week, I drive Erik insane. He watches me pace, he watches me think, but he has nothing to offer. I feel as if it's his first defeat… He cannot take care of me this time. There is nothing he can do.

"It will be better this time." he says several times, but he never looks directly in my eyes as he says it.

"How can you be sure?" I asked him at one point.

But Erik is not sure of anything anymore. I watch him just as avidly as he watches me. Often, he walks about the house as if in a daze, looking around without really seeing. He sits at the piano, but he will not play, either. Yesterday, I cannot count how many times he asked me if I loved him.

"Of course." I repeated each time. "I love you, no matter what."

Sometimes, he would look at me with great affection, and other times, he would just stare.

But things must be better this time. I am happier, I am more prepared, the air is fresh, there is room to move about, and I am eating well. My baby will be… fine.

If I believe it, it will be true.

Erik has a nightmare last night

I know, because I recognize it. He was up before I was in the morning, and down in this music room. He was jumpy—he refused the breakfast I brought him. He wanted me next to him the whole day, simply sitting there, just so he could see me. I dared not question him. He was disposed to my conversation, although he seemed averse to talking himself.

I told him about the children I had seen yesterday for the first time, how fun they were to play with. He looked at me for a long time, his fingers clutching the edge of the piano with such crushing force that I thought for sure the side would crumble. He did not want to hear me sing, nor did he want me to leave the music room.

My husband is an odd man.

During the second week, Erik takes me for a walk around the other side of town. There are many cottages here, as well, although they are far less crowded, and empty of people. It reminds me of the walk we took on my birthday almost two years ago. I bring it up, very lightly, and I can see, he remembers too.

"Things have changed since then." he says gently, and I whole-heartedly agree.

We pass the tiny gathering of lights that is the town below us, and circle back towards our home. Erik is quiet tonight.

"I think it's a boy." I say wistfully, thinking about having a young son with Erik and I. He would be musical, of course, taking after Erik in every movement, following me around, making noise and racket like all young boys do. He would be scolded, yes, but when we would be alone, Erik and I would laugh about his energy, muse over his personality.

I see another picture; a little girl, wearing my hats and make-up, desperately trying to please us. She would play nicely with her dolls and sit on our knees patiently while we told her stories and sang to her. Her favorite thing to do would be to pick the flowers in front of our house, proudly setting them on the table for all to see. "I think it's a girl." I amend.

Erik chuckles quietly. "Make up your mind, now."

I frown, thinking again. I see both of the children in my mind, and I cannot feel one anymore than the other. Girl…? No, perhaps a boy… but perhaps a girl as well…

"Would you like to hear the name?" I ask, pulling on his arm as we pass a tiny forest of trees that once again, is blaringly similar to our walks in Paris.

His yellow eyes pretend to scrutinize me, and then he shakes his head.

I give my trademark pout. "Why not?"

He gives a mysterious smile. "Surprises, surprises," he sings, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like a male equivalent of mine.

"Surely you won't go mad from not knowing?"

His grip tightens. "If you do not agree that I am already half-mad—" He shrugs. "—a little bit more will not make much of a difference."

Unable to tell completely if he is jesting with me, I ignore his comment, and say, "I wonder what it will look like?"

Oh. I realize too late that I have breached a sensitive subject.

I hear him inhale sharply and turn his head a little bit away from me. I push him a little and keep walking, continuing with, "Blonde hair, maybe? But your hair is darker… And eyes?"

"Hopefully not like the devils." Erik says nastily.

"Those would be red eyes darling, not yellow." I say helpfully. He gives a little noise that I think might be a poorly disguised laugh, but when I quickly look towards him, he is innocently looking in the opposite direction.

I am holding his right hand, but as we move forward, I try to look at his left hand in the dark evening. I want him to see me looking.

He sighs. "What are you doing?"

"You know," I begin conversationally. "I am married to you. But sometimes I am not so sure if you're married to me."

He actually comes to a complete stop, and turns to me with his glowing eyes burning into mine.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

I hold out my hand to him, putting my little band right in front of his face. His eyes glance at it. "Please, Erik? I've given you several months without it. I want it on you."

"You are being silly." he tells me, and he starts to walk again, humming.

I grumble for a moment, but I'm not quite brave enough to pursue the subject.

During the third week, Erik has a strange phase. He gets very angry one evening, raving about absolutely nothing I can place, and then leaves the house. I cried for only a minute, before I pulled myself together and realized Erik probably wouldn't even remember that he was angry when he came home.

He talks to himself again, and then laughs whenever I tell him to stop. He's going back to… to the way he used to be, before I loved him. Have I changed? I do not know what it is, or how to grasp it, but it worries me.

It must be the baby… If there is anyone else—not that there is anyone else, Erik and I are quite alone once again—who is just as concerned as I am, it would be my Erik.

If all goes well, we will not be alone much longer. If all goes well, of course.

"It will." Erik says before I go to sleep, and his cold hand briefly touches my wrist. His golden eyes are earnest and sincere, and just as desperate for hope as I am.

"Of course it will be." I agree, trying to convey my thoughts with my eyes.

He watches me for quite a bit longer before he goes downstairs. I stare at the door, wondering if he is down there speaking to himself again, questioning himself about strange things I do not understand. He tells me all the time that he is mad, and there is nothing I can do. I half believe him, but I sincerely believe that he is much saner with me. Before he had my love, he could be very… unusual, yes. But now, he is normal. Just like he always wanted to be.

Perhaps it is wrong to wish for this, when my son was born three months before his time, but I wish this baby would come sooner.

Before we both lose our minds.

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