Mrs. Evans sat in bed propped up by a myriad of pillows. Her adorable daughter Matilda was regaling her with her knowledge of pterosaurs (which were not dinosaurs), and Mrs. Evans was doing her best to look interested. She loved her daughter very much, but it was just so difficult to focus. She was so tired lately...
She began to cough right in the middle of a charming anecdote about pterosaurs. She tried to suppress the cough but couldn't. Little Matilda looked alarmed. "Mommy, why is there so much blood when you cough?" "It's nothing, darling," said Mrs. Evans nonchalantly. "Would you ask your daddy to come in here, please?" The preschooler loved nothing more than to be helpful, and so she scampered off happily to do as her mommy requested.
Mr. Evans strode into the room. His gleaming blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight that dappled in through the open curtains. His handsome green eyes twinkled. He was shirtless, as he often was when he tackled various chores around the house, and a thin layer of perspiration glistened on his rippling pecs and abs. He smiled impishly, until he noticed the distress on his wife's face and his expression turned to one of grave concern. "Darling, you look unwell. I think your cold is getting worse."
Mrs. Evans knew it was no mere cold that plagued her, but she hadn't the heart to tell her family. She faked a merry laugh and said, "Don't be silly, dear. I'll be up and out of this bed in no time."
"But darling." Mr. Evans sat next to her and placed his large, strong hand gently on her forehead. "You're so pale. If it weren't for these red splotches on your cheeks I'd swear you were a ghost."
"A ghost!" the blonde woman laughed. "You know there's no such thing." Her look turned serious. "But if there were, I would want you to know that I would never, ever haunt you."
"Darling!" said her shocked husband. "Why must you say something so morbid?"
The ill woman coughed into her handkerchief, careful to conceal the blood from her fretful husband. "I'm not being morbid, but I must talk to you seriously. If anything should happen to me, I want you and the children to be happy. I want you to move on with your life. Forget about me, or if you must remember me, remember how I only care about your happiness."
"Darling, now you're positively scaring me," her worried husband said.
"Oh, I don't want to frighten you. Just promise me you'll heed my wishes, and then we can speak of more pleasant things," she said.
"Yes, of course, but..."
Mrs. Evans cut him off. "You know, darling, I've been thinking that we should take the children to the Alps this summer..."
That night, Mrs. Evans took a turn for the worse. She knew she didn't have much longer, and so she woke up her adorably tussled husband sleeping next to her. "Darling..." She had a coughing fit, and this time she couldn't prevent her heartbreakingly handsome husband from noticing the blood.
"Oh my God! What's wrong! I must get you to a hospital right away!" he exclaimed worriedly.
"There's no time for that," Mrs. Evans sighed. "I'm afraid I've been keeping something from you. I...I'm dying of consumption. No, don't speak, darling, there's something I must tell you. I know that you're in love with the babysitter."
The father of her children broke down in tears. "I'm so sorry, darling! I never wanted to hurt you, but yes, I love him."
"I know, darling," Mrs. Evans said. She paused as she coughed up more blood. "I know and I forgive you. I want you to be with him and be happy."
"Darling, please don't talk this way," Mr. Evans said. "You'll be fine, I don't want anything to happen to you."
"I know, darling. And I don't want you to be sad for even one moment. Now, please, let's not talk any longer. Just hold me until morning. Not as lovers, because I know your heart belongs to someone else now, but as friends."
"Yes, of course, darling," said Mr. Evans. "Whatever you want."
Mrs. Evans cuddled into her husband's warm yet sexless embrace. When her husband awoke with the morning light she was no longer breathing.
Blaine walked into his room to find Sebastian doubled over in laughter. Nick had obviously been laughing too, but he stopped when he saw Blaine and looked guiltily at Sebastian. "What's going on?" Blaine asked.
"'Mrs. Evans knew it was no mere cold that plagued her,'" Sebastian quoted dramatically before bursting out in laughter again.
Blaine was speechless. He saw his laptop open on the desk and slammed it shut. "Nick! How could you let him..."
"Sorry," Nick said. "I had no idea what you were writing." He obviously had to work at stifling more giggles.
"Get the hell out of our room, Sebastian!" Blaine yelled. Then at Nick he yelled, "Why do you even let him in here? Jesus!"
"Fine, I'm leaving," Sebastian said. He paused in the doorway and added, "But seriously, Blaine? Consumption? What are we living in, nineteenth century Russia?"
He walked down the hall and Blaine yelled after him, "Consumption is tuberculosis! I just read about an outbreak in Nevada!"
Sebastian spun around just long enough to roll his eyes and kept walking. Blaine let the door to his room close and kicked it hard a couple times. "I'm really sorry," Nick said. "I really didn't know you were writing...whatever that was."
"It's a writing assignment for English," Blaine said. "Obviously."
Nick said, "Okay. Well, I don't think you should turn it in. I think if you turn it in Mr. Goodman will think you're in love with someone you babysit for and you want his wife dead."
Blaine didn't actually want Mrs. Evans dead. It was just hard to imagine Mr. Evans leaving her. He wouldn't want to hurt her, or the girls. Even though she was probably horrible to him. She probably got pregnant on purpose so Mr. Evans would have to marry her. She probably knew he was gay even and thought she could "cure" him.
Or maybe not. Maybe she was actually as nice as she seemed. Blaine didn't care actually, and he could accept...he knew he had no choice but to accept that Mr. Evans probably wasn't going to leave her for him. At least not until he was eighteen. He just wished Mr. Evans would call.