A/N: I know, shocking, right? But I really felt like this was part II to the last chapter, only it needed to be in Mary's pov and so I prioritized it over a bunch of other things because I didn't want to make you guys wait. I will warn you, it is a bit shorter but that is because, as I said, this is the second part to what took place between Matthew and Mary and this is the part that needs to be in Mary's pov. For me to add more would only take away from where the story is going.

Thanks as always for your support.

Chapter Thirty Two

Dressed and sitting on the couch, Mary purses her lips and raises both eyebrows at Tom who is walking the floor in front of Mary and Matthew, who also sits dressed and on the other end of the couch. Tom mutters to himself and Mary thinks she catches Sybil mid eye roll before her sister catches Mary watching and Sybil's mouth goes stern again.

"I would ask you what you were thinking–" Tom begins and then stops because isn't it awfully clear what they were thinking? "What's this business about not getting married now or ever, Mary?"

"Tom," Mary tries to speak patiently. She feels like a little girl and she doesn't like it. She worked long and hard, overcame too much, to ever feel like anyone has control over her. "I think what I said speaks for itself. I have no plans to ever marry again. Not just to Matthew. But anyone. It's not for me. Not again."

She senses movement out of the corner of her eye from Matthew. She has no idea what he is thinking. She only knows that what happened between them is such a long time coming. Last night, there was no talk of marriage or commitment or she would have put a stop to everything quickly. Or she tells herself she would have done. She thought Matthew understood, but she must have made a mistake.

She closes her eyes when she remembers the way they kissed, how she kept her eyes open on his blue ones for as long as she could, her hands in his wheat colored hair before the tenderness pulled her under.

It cannot matter. It cannot matter. She will not let it matter.

"Well," Tom says, tapping his foot. "If marriage is not for you, then you have no business doing–what...doing something like last night."

"Well, I certainly don't make a habit of it," Mary snaps at him quickly and is instantly sorry. She likes Tom. She knows he considers her family, despite her earliest treatment of him, and would only want the best for her.

"It's for the marriage bed," Tom continues, looking up at the ceiling. She can tell he would rather be anywhere but in this room having this conversation with his sister-in-law.

Sybil makes a sound to his right. "What?" he defends. "We weren't together that way until a priest pronounced us man and wife."

In another life, Mary would find this quite hilarious, especially her sister's expression, how Sybil swallows a laugh, trying to appease Tom. "Yes, Tom. We did. But that was because I wanted to–"

"Sybil," he interrupts.

"I'm just saying I don't think your piety is behind your lecturing," Sybil concedes.

"I was an altar boy!" Tom hisses at her, as if she has turned on him but Sybil only looks towards Mary.

"Mary, there are consequences for actions like last night. And that's why Tom is so intent on the marriage issue. That's why anyone who found you two like that–would ask about marriage," Sybil explains patiently.

It isn't as if Matthew's silence isn't affecting Mary, she just cannot think of him now.

"Have you thrown away your harem pants then? Don't I get a say in any of this? I feel like you're acting as Papa and Mama, worried about my reputation. I'm a widow. There is freedom in that. And I don't plan on giving that up."

"Do you plan on getting pregnant?" Sybil asks outrightly. "Because you may already be so."

Mary starts to laugh. She laughs and laughs and laughs. Tears stream down her cheeks and she holds her stomach with her crossed arms. It is so unlike Mary that the whole room stills even as Mary stands so her back is to them, until her shoulders stop shaking. "Don't you know?" Her voice is unreadable. She is uncertain if her laughing tears are funny at all and she dashes them off her face. She thinks of the weight of sleeping Cate or Abby against her chest, nestled there, or Declan on her hip, swinging his legs. She closes her eyes when she thinks of the way Declan runs to Sybil for a kiss whenever she enters a room. Mary will never know what it is like to have her child press his or her sweet lips to her own.

For the first time, Matthew speaks. "Know what?"

His voice makes her ache, the hardness and the hurt she hears there, and the sympathy too, for why should he be sympathetic to her? She is hurting him, not the other way around. His silence so far gives him away. He wants more than she will ever give.

She whirls around. "I can't become pregnant."

Mary can't chance a glance at Matthew. Tom looks uncomfortable but Sybil is unfazed. "How do you know that?"

"Sybil," Mary hisses as if the two men aren't in the room. "I was married for more than a year and there were plenty of..." She pauses. "It isn't as if we even pretended to sleep in separate beds like Mama and Papa." Matthew rises quickly and walks towards the door. Now it is his turn to give the room his back. But he doesn't leave. God, he doesn't leave and she knows it's because he can't. That's always been their problem. She can't. He can't. They can't.

"Mary..." Sybil begins.

"No," Mary insists. "There was never even a moment where I thought it possibly happened and I ended up mistaken. It never happened. I'm telling you, without going into anymore detail, I can't have children."

"Have you seen a doctor–"

But Matthew cuts Sybil off. His hand is on the wall now as if this is how he is on his feet at all. "You can," he says and Mary is so confused she wishes that he would turn around. She is maddened by the fact that he would dare speak about something so secretly painful to her and with such authority, that this would be one of his only contributions to the conversation.

"Matthew, I don't know what makes you–" she starts angrily but he turns around.

He shakes his head and rubs his jaw. "I can't believe that even after all of this, I am going to be the one to tell you."

"Matthew," Sybil cautions.

"I'm so sick and tired of being the one to say the thing that hurts you, to be the person that causes your face to go still as a statue, before you leave the room. I hate hurting you. And yet, it appears like I can't help but do so." His voice is slow, careful, pained. "Or I can go on lying to you. And I just can't..."

Mary's voice, however, is shaking. "What are you talking about, Matthew?"

"You were pregnant." He takes a step closer as if he would gather her up but stops when her expression does exactly as he predicted. She is a statue now, nothing close to flesh and blood. "You were pregnant before the car accident. You didn't know and it was decided that mourning Mack's loss was difficult enough to bear without adding..."

"A miscarriage?" Mary asks without inflection. "I was pregnant?"

When he nods, she flees to her bedroom.

Mary crawls onto the bed that smells of Matthew and buries her face in a pillow. She thinks she should probably cry but the tears do not come. First, she must realize there was a baby. She wonders if the baby's skin would have been tan like Mack's or pale like her own? Would the baby have his dimples? A boy or a girl? She hears Mack's voice in her head, talking nonsense to her belly, making fun of how fat she grows. Then she must realize he or she, like Mack, is gone. There is no baby. She never grew fat. She never told her husband she was pregnant and watched his face light up with joy.

There is a terrible pain beneath her breastbone that she is sure is betrayal and anger mixed with white hot grief. She didn't know. Mack never knew. They took something from her. They took away her right to grieve for something, someone, who belonged to her. It wasn't for them to take. And how many people knew? If Matthew knew, did Isobel? Did Lavinia? But it doesn't matter who knew, only that Mary didn't. The hatred she left behind months and months ago in New York, fills her throat. She makes herself small on the bed, as small as she possibly can. She turns towards the wall and when Sybil knocks, Mary cannot unlock her jaw to tell her not to come in.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," Sybil murmurs softly.

"Please leave," Mary responds. "I want to be alone. I need to be alone."

I am alone.

"Mary, whatever was done, you must believe me, was done out of love for you."

We made a baby, Mack, Mary thinks and squeezes her eyes shut, out of love, we made a child.

"Please go." Her voice is strangled now and after the door closes she weeps and weeps. No matter how tightly she wraps her arms around herself, she cannot keep herself in one piece.

A/N: Reviews are much appreciated. When I post this close in succession, it most likely means I am on streak. I'd love to get you something more soon but until then, let me know what you think of this one.