Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and PMs over the years! I appreciated them all, even if I was not able to respond to all of them. This story will have some M-rated material, but I am not sure if it warrants the whole story to be rated M. Please let me know if you think otherwise.
There was bizarre comfort in his breathing. Christine didn't know why, but his even breaths seemed to calm her, and she lay there, staring at the ceiling, unshed tears in her eyes. His hand was resting on her stomach, a decidedly physical weight on her, almost as if it was there to prevent her from leaving the bed. Which it was.
He never liked it when she left the bed in the middle of the night. A glass of water was set on her bedside table every night in case she woke up thirsty. A pair of woolen socks and an extra blanket were neatly tucked in the nightstand in case she ever got cold. A fan stood in the corner in case it got too hot. Even midnight trips to the bathroom were met with alarm. He would always wake, demand to know where she was going, and wait until she returned to fall back asleep.
It became ten times worse when Maéva was born. The bassinet had been placed in their bedroom, and he had been completely deaf to her argument that doing so would keep both of them awake when only she needed to be up to tend to the baby. He bore it silently, without complaint. It was only after Maéva started sleeping through the night that he moved the crib to the other room. And even then he would want to know where she was going if she got up.
"Maéva's crying," Christine would murmur sleepily. When she would return to the bedroom after calming the baby, it would be to find him awake still, waiting for her.
With a sigh, she rolled over and slipped out of the bed, using the movement to quickly wipe her eyes. She glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning. Maéva had woken her up two hours ago because of a bad dream, and Christine hadn't been able to sleep since.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't turn around. "I need some air." Stepping over to the window, she pushed aside the drapes and opened it. A warm summer breeze immediately rushed through, and she breathed it in, closing her eyes.
"Would you like the fan turned on?"
"No." She leaned over the windowsill, looking out, the city lights bright and beautiful. "I just need a minute of fresh air." A few moments of silence passed.
"Do you need a night in the city?"
"Hmm?" She glanced over her shoulder, confused at the question. He was sitting up, watching her closely.
"A night away from the house. Away from Maéva. Perhaps an opera or a symphony. It has been some time since I have pampered you in such a way."
She couldn't help but smile slightly. "You pamper me every day. I'm fine. I just need some fresh air. That's all."
His gaze did not waver, and after a few minutes she gave a small sigh and shut the window before sliding back into the bed, allowing herself to be pulled closer to him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her, a familiar gesture. Maéva would not wake again for another four or five hours. It seemed to stretch in front of her like an eternity.
"You will tell me soon, will you not?" he said softly.
She looked up at him in confusion, and he pushed back a few curls from her cheeks, saying, "The reason you have been so sad."
"I'm not sad."
"There is a shadow in your eyes. A secret behind your smiles. You will tell me soon, yes?"
She sighed, pressed her cheek back into his shoulder, and didn't answer.
He liked the name Maéva.
Christine wasn't sure why. One spring afternoon, she was writing down ideas for baby names at the kitchen table, tea and fruit in front of her. He paused by her to see what she was doing. She stopped and glanced at him, smiling ever so slightly. He read through the names, took the pen from her, and scrawled out Maéva.
"Why Maéva?" she asked when she had read it.
He shrugged a little. "I have always liked that name. But you may call it anything you wish."
Christine crossed out the rest and circled the name he had written, not bothering to mention that the name was a little old-fashioned. If it was something she could do to encourage any of his affection toward their unborn daughter, she would do it.
After dinner was put away, she sat on the sofa and browsed the internet for baby toys, balancing the tablet on her large belly. Erik was at his desk, comparing some documents. He always became very involved in his work toward the end of the month, and Christine was not sure just what type of work he did. He read through long papers and wrote letters and sent emails and did all other sorts of work. She had asked a few times, and he had given her a complicated answer that involved both contracting, documentation, site overviewing, and other things. After the fourth time asking, she stopped, feeling that if she didn't understand it by then, she probably never would.
He was a busy man. She now thought his arguments for marrying him were now proven invalid.
I will adore you…I will take care of you…He will neglect you for his work…You will never see him…His job will prevent any love you share…I will shower you with attention…Just love me…love me…
"What about this?" she said, angling the tablet toward him. "It could be cute."
She could see a grimace in his eyes as he glanced toward the picture of the baby xylophone and tiny drum, but he said nothing.
"I'll take that as a no, then…" she said softly.
He made an impatient noise in his throat, looking back at his documents. "Get it whatever you wish. I have no say in the matter."
Christine frowned, putting a hand back on her stomach. "Do you have to keep calling her an 'it?'"
He ignored her, making a few notes at the bottom of the page, and she sighed huffily, tempted to buy the baby toys just to annoy him, but instead she kept looking. As she paused to look at the price of a blue stuffed elephant, the most spirited kick she had felt yet almost winded her, and she gasped, wrapping her arms around her stomach and closing her eyes.
She could hear the chair scraping against the floor as he hurriedly stood and approached her. "What is it? Are you in pain?"
Shaking her head, she rubbed her side, as close to her lungs as she could get in her current state. "She just kicked me. I think she must really want this elephant." Christine showed him the tablet, giving a little smile, but he didn't even look at the picture. He was watching her, concerned.
"Should I call a doctor?" he said. "The midwife?"
Christine sighed and resisted rolling her eyes. "No. It was only a kick."
"Perhaps a warm bath? You have said in the past that they help you."
"I'm fine now. Really. I was just surprised."
"Tea, then? Or some strawberries. We have none in the house right now, but I could easily obtain some for you."
In the beginning of her pregnancy, she had craved strawberries so badly that she had made herself sick more than once from eating too many. Now that her cravings had mostly subsided, Christine rather felt like she never wanted to see another strawberry again.
But she could also tell that Erik was becoming somewhat panicked. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he watched her, anxiously taking in her every move. Christine tried to fight it most of the time, insisting that she was perfectly healthy and that he didn't need to worry, but lately she had been too exhausted to do so and instead made up tasks for him to do so he could think he was helping her. She chose that route again.
"Actually, I'm getting kind of sleepy," she said. "Will you help me to bed?"
She knew that in a matter of just a few weeks, she really would need his help getting up and down the stairs, and the thought was a little humiliating. Maybe she should start sleeping on the couch. But he would never allow that.
After she was situated in the bed, with the window opened just a little, he stood to the side and asked if there was anything else she needed.
"My feet are cold," she complained. He pulled out a pair of woolen socks and slid them onto her swollen feet, and she gave a sheepish smile. "Thanks."
He nodded. "I will be back in a few hours, but do not hesitate to let me know if you need something before then."
She tilted her face upward, and he watched her for a moment before leaning over to place a brief, chaste kiss on her lips before leaving. It disappointed her. She had wanted him to stay and simply...cuddle with her. Currently, she felt too huge and uncomfortable for anything beyond that, but it had been a while since he had done anything more than press quick kiss to her forehead, cheek, or lips. Maybe the lack of physical intimacy was making him more paranoid and irritable than usual. That, and the fact that she was about to give birth.
Christine simply had to content herself with the thought that everything would be better once the baby was born. It would be. It had to be.
It would all have to be done very, very carefully.
There would be no room for mistakes. Christine was more aware of that than ever before. One slip-up would ruin the entire thing. At first, she had been tempted to simply pick up Maéva right then and there and disappear, but that would have failed spectacularly. She was painfully aware that Erik was not above threats of violence and locked doors. And if he noticed anything, he would undoubtedly rapidly resort to both. His worst fear. And she was doing her best to fulfill it.
Where would they go? What would they do? Money would not be a problem for a month or so, but after that, what then? There seemed to be no city, no country, no continent he had not spoken of, visited, extended an influence over. And although she knew she was being ridiculous—he couldn't have been everywhere—it still felt like wherever she went, he would know precisely where it was and would have no trouble finding her in a matter of days.
She examined a brightly-colored children's map with her daughter one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"That's Germany," she whispered, tapping on a picture of a man in lederhosen with a huge bierstein. "It's close...Or…" She looked west, to Spain. And then her eyes inevitably went northward, toward Sweden. But that would be beyond idiotic. Erik would look there first. She counted the countries in the European Union, whispering the numbers in Maéva's ear. Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven countries in which to hide. But not forever. And everything still looked so close to France.
"What are you doing?"
Christine jumped and spun around, seeing Erik in the doorway, watching the scene.
"Just looking at a map with Maéva," she said, turning away so he wouldn't see the flush on her cheeks.
"She is much too young for that," he said.
Maéva, having just turned three, began to proudly count the countries on the map. "One, two, three, six, nine…" She pressed a pudgy finger to Poland and looked up at her father for approval. His eyebrow quirked in amusement.
Christine shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm going to go crazy if I have to read one more book about an elephant."
Maéva looked up at the last word. "I want elephant!"
Christine stood and went to the kitchen, where Maéva had left her blue stuffed elephant that morning after breakfast. When she returned, she found Erik trying to teach Maéva the names of the countries, and she put the elephant down on the floor quickly and went to hide in the laundry room so he wouldn't see the tears that had sprung up in her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, Maéva came to find her, repeatedly saying, "France! France! France!"
"Very good," Christine said, pressing a kiss to Maéva's cheek. She had calmed herself by then, and she left the half-finished laundry and went back to the map. Maéva had lost interest by then, though, and so Christine pulled out a bright yellow ball, and they rolled it back and forth on the floor until Maéva began to get antsy. Christine, still too stressed to really give her daughter the amount of attention she needed, simply sat and examined the map while Maéva started throwing the ball at things.
Christine's gaze began to wander across the bright pictures and outlined countries, out to the ocean, across the ocean…
Her heart thudded in her chest loudly. It didn't seem possible. But somehow it was, and she could feel her mind spinning as she thought of what she would need to do, what she would have to tell herself and Maéva, what she would have to get…
There was a crash, and Christine turned around quickly to see a potted plant had fallen from the shelf and shattered on the floor. Dirt, roots, and ceramic shards littered the front room. Maéva looked at her, her eyes wide, and the yellow ball, having done its damage, rolled peacefully to the corner of the room.
A door opened somewhere in the house, and within two seconds Erik had returned to the room, his eyes flashing as he took in the scene. Maéva turned to look at him, took a breath, and then burst into childish wails, and Christine gave an annoyed sigh and gathered the screaming girl into her arms.
"It's all right," she murmured, smoothing Maéva's dark curls. Maéva pressed her wet face into Christine's shoulder and bawled as if in some kind of excruciating physical pain. She stood, holding onto Maéva still, and looked at Erik.
"It's fine," she said loudly, trying to be heard over Maéva. "Nothing happened." She wanted to tell him that he was not helping the situation; somehow, all he had to do was give Maéva a certain look, and the little girl, sensing his disapproval, would always dissolve into tears.
"What happened?"
Between Maéva's screaming and Erik's demanding gaze, Christine could feel a headache starting to form. She bounced her daughter slightly and shushed her again before stepping over the mess. Normally, she would have passed her daughter to him and cleaned the mess, but instead she held onto the crying girl as she walked past him, saying, "She threw the ball, and it hit the plant. She didn't do anything wrong. She's just tired."
And she took Maéva upstairs, not bothering to stay and listen to his reply.
As she calmed her daughter, rocking her and singing softly, Christine watched her little red face relax, her eyelids flutter close, and her breathing even out. Her heart thudded against her chest, a love so intense, so focused, that she could hardly comprehend it. Her child. Her daughter. The entire reason behind it all. She would not risk her daughter for anything. Yet somehow, she was willing to risk everything.