April 2021

My stomach had just begun to swell. It was a gentle slope beneath my clothes, a subtle reminder of the life that was growing there and of everything that had led to its creation. I had found out the sex of the baby two days before. A little boy. In my own head, I already knew his name.

Peter. My baby. Our baby. I'd slipped into daydreaming about him, one hand over my belly, the other behind my head. He was bright-eyed and precocious with brown hair and fair skin. Playing soccer, laughing, nestling into bed and asking for me to leave the lights on.

I felt a hand over mine as Gabriel joined me on the wide couch, twining his fingers with mine.

"Pregnancy has made you so docile," he remarked, lips moving by my ear. He was still wearing his suit and tie. "I'm starting to miss the fight."

I turned my head to face him.

"Liar," I said softly. He'd been so giving lately, so tender. Since the doctors gave us the news he'd been gentle. There had been no punishments; not that I'd been doing anything to deserve them. He was right. Pregnancy had made me docile. The moment the results had come back… I had lost the will to fight him. Why should I have continued? I was married to him. There was no one else. We had a lovely home and a baby on the way. Hadn't he taken care of me for the last ten years, despite the fight, the hatred? Everyone deserved a second chance, didn't they? Even him?

Even me?

His expression went sober and searching as he stared at me. I hadn't felt the strings of his control for months now, and I didn't feel them then as he leaned forward. His eyes fluttered shut as his lips met mine, and I let myself enjoy the sensation, kissing him back tentatively. His mouth turned into a smile above mine and he pulled back, his tongue tracing the contours of his lips.

"Well, I don't miss coming back from kissing you missing half my tongue," he said.

I couldn't help laughing and a sharp pain hit my ribs as I did so. I stopped abruptly.

"I thought you liked the pain."

"I'm no masochist," he said bluntly. I noted it and went back to staring at his face. There were so many things I hated about that face, and so many things I loved.

The way his eyes got hard when I disappointed him. The way he smiled when he was cutting my skin with a knife and watching me bleed. The half-smirk he got when he controlled me in public. The way his voice went low when he was forcing me to do things I wasn't comfortable with… the way his teeth cut my flesh when he let himself go in bed. I hated them all.

But there were things I hoped our child inherited. The way he smiled when I did something without a fight. His grin when he'd found out about the baby. The way his hands caressed my skin and made me feel loved during sex. The way he groaned and shuddered when he came. Well… maybe our child shouldn't inherit all the things that didn't terrify me about his father.

"What's it going to be like when the baby comes?" I found myself asking. I wondered about that a lot. "You're a killer…"

His eyes flashed and his hand on mine tensed.

"It's just what you are," I continued. "I know what you do, Gabriel. I'm not blind. I'm the one cleaning the blood off of your boots half the time. I just…" I rolled to face him. He adjusted his body to accommodate my size. "I don't want our son around that. You can't come home bloody and fuck me on the kitchen table because you're still on some sort of sadistic high."

He was taking it stoically, watching me and seeming to consider my monologue.

"I just," I continued, "I don't want to raise a baby in that. And I know you. You don't want to screw up your son any more than I do." I let it go at that, watching him until he chose to speak.

"You're right," he said simply. "Things will have to change. I can't get rid of the hunger, Claire. I need to kill, to learn. But I can hide it. I can live a normal life with you." He seemed to consider that for a moment. "At least until the baby is all grown up." He smiled. "Then we can resume our more… strenuous activities." I shivered at the thought, but the assurance of coming normalcy was enough to help me relax.

We stayed there in companionable silence for a while longer.

"What do you think of yellow?" I asked. "For the nursery. I want to do it in suns and stars and… other yellow things. With dark blue accents."

He chuckled into the curve of my neck before sitting up and beginning to loosen his tie.

"I'll leave you my credit card," he said, "You can pick out the things for the nursery tomorrow."

I fell asleep there, safe and warm, picking out colors in my head for a nursery that would never hold our baby boy.

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Mel and Chuck