Faith dried her eyes with her father's handkerchief as she tried to compose herself. She wanted to be as calm as possible when Jem arrived, which would be any moment.

Groggy and confused, Faith had awakened at dawn to find her parents sitting at her bedside. She could tell by their haggard appearances that they were beyond tired, but they were so sweet as they tried to comfort her. They explained the events that had caused her to be rushed to the hospital, expressed their sorrow about the miscarriage, and apologized for making her feel that she shouldn't tell them about her marriage. The three of them had a long talk about loss, faith, and hope for the future. When the nurse interrupted them to say the Mr. Blythe had telephoned to check on his wife's condition, Faith had encouraged her parents to go home to rest and had asked for a few moments to herself before her husband arrived.

Faith took some slow, deep breaths in an attempt to stop crying. She remembered sobbing in Jem's arms when she had first awakened at Ingleside after losing the baby. Though being wrapped tenderly in his arms as she cried had been comforting, she didn't want to repeat that scene. John and Rosemary had told her about all the hours Jem had sat by her side worrying about her and how he had agreed to leave only after a great deal of parental pressure.

Dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief again, Faith thought wistfully about how excited Jem had been at the prospect of becoming a father. During the last week, he had been happier than she had ever seen him. Remembering the heartbroken look in his eyes the morning after the miscarriage, Faith cringed. Jem was disappointed enough without having to worry about her, so she steeled herself to be strong. Faith had spent plenty of time in England hiding her fears and her true feelings. In fact, she had become quite good at it and was certain she would have no trouble being good at it again.

"Come in," she said when she heard a soft knock on the door.

"Good morning," Jem said, with a note of forced cheerfulness as he entered the room. He walked over to the side of the bed and kissed her on the cheek. "How do you feel?"

Knowing the he wouldn't believe her if she said she was fine, she replied, "I feel a little weak. And despite the amount of sleep I've had in the last two days, I'm tired." She didn't mention that she felt empty and thought she had failed him as wife.

"I'm not surprised," he told her as he sat down in the chair next to her bed. "You've lost a lot of blood. It will take you a while to regain your strength."

She looked pale and fragile, nothing like the vibrant and robust woman she had been prior to this ordeal. Though Jem knew her appearance shouldn't surprise him, it made his heart ache nevertheless.

"I'm sorry, Jem," she said, her voice quavering as she silently admonished herself for her display of emotion. Hiding her feelings was going to much more difficult than she thought because the sorrowful look in his eyes brought her grief to the surface.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Sweetheart," he said gently. "You didn't do anything to cause the miscarriage, and you couldn't have done anything to prevent it."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. When she recovered her voice, she said, "I didn't know I could miss something I didn't have yet, but our baby was already real to me."

"She was real to me, too," Jem said.

"It was a girl?" Faith asked, before letting out a sob.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, Jem. I would have been happy with a little boy, but I was secretly hoping for a girl," Faith said as tears ran down her cheeks.

"So was I," he confessed, his eyes misting up a bit. "I wanted a little girl who would look just like her beautiful mother."

Gilbert Blythe, standing outside the door, hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he'd heard enough to know that now was not the moment to check on his patient. He slowly walked away, giving the young couple the chance to be alone to grieve.