Fritz whistles a happy tune around their modest living quarters as he prepares for his day.
"Are you sure you will be fine?" he asks his wife. Her hair is a mess and she is wearing the same clothes from the day before, having neglected to change out of the comfortable, worn trousers and chemise that once belonged to him.
"I will be just fine, thank you." Fritz smiles at her, but he is not content with the answer. She still maintains a sadness about her, although she tries to hide it. He can see through her fake smile– her eyes do not light up, even as he kisses her goodbye for the day.
"Write something thrilling today!" he suggests.
"I will– you can read it upon your return."
Friedrich climbs down the stairs to attend to his classes. He is distracted, though, and the students notice. He misses one of the young boys throwing a balled up piece of paper, and even fails to notice that one does not return from lunch. He is preoccupied with thoughts of his wife. His wife, he thinks. He must do something to bring her cheer. He knows her too well; he knows that she is trying to be excited about a baby, for his sake, but she cannot picture herself as a mother.
At the end of his day, he takes a detour to visit the shops in town. When he arrives home, Jo is not there. He walks into the office with a large smile, prepared to counter any sad thoughts in her mind with flowers and chocolates, but the room is empty. He searches for a note, but her desk is bare.
He calls for her, panicked by her absence. She has been so sad this past week. Where can she be? Mein Jo, he thinks frantically. He quickly descends the stairs and throws the door open, ready to run after her, wherever she may be. On the other side of the door, he finds his wife, startled by his movements.
"Jo!" he screams with more energy than necessary.
"What is it?" she asks, concerned.
"I thought… I don't know what I thought. Where were you?"
"I went for a walk. I needed to clear my head. Do I need to ask permission?"
"No, I'm sorry, darling. Here," he says, shoving his presents into her hands.
"What is this?" she smiles.
"Mein Jo," he says carefully, "I know… well, I'm not sure…" he pauses. "To Hell with this infernal language!" She laughs at his frustration. His English is better than some Americans. "I love you," he says slowly, "and I know that this," he places his hand where a bump will soon surely appear, "this is not how you picture your future."
She sighs deeply and takes his hand from her stomach. She holds it gingerly and kisses each of his fingers unhurriedly. "I love you, Friedrich. You are correct. This is not how I thought my adult years would be, but I am happy to give you something that brings you joy."
"I want it to bring you joy too," he says honestly.
"It may, I do not know yet how I feel. I have been trying to figure out my thoughts. I even started writing a story about a writer who becomes pregnant unexpectedly. It did not work. I was unable to get in her head, as I am with my own feelings right now."
Fritz reaches out to her and pulls her into his arms. They stand together for what feels like an eternity, and he kisses the top of her head to end the embrace. He leads her into the kitchen and they snack on the chocolates as they discuss what to expect and what they don't know.
They wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other's arms on the sofa.
"Good morning," she whispers with a soft kiss.
"Good morning, my beautiful Professorin." She rests her head on his shoulder.
"If anything, my sadness has brought such softness out of you, my dear Fritz," she whispers.
"It has always been present, but you may be correct. I hate seeing you so upset. Come, get dressed, and we will go to the book store."
"The book store?" she asks, "I thought you had already picked up the textbooks for the new students."
"I did. These books will be for us." She gives him a puzzled expression. "Last night we talked about what we do not know about what to expect with pregnancy, so we will read. I predict that it will be less scary once we are well-read on the subject."
…
Two days later, they finish the stack of books on the coffee table.
"Fritz, what if he has a cleft pallet?"
"He will not, and you do not know it is a boy."
"What if it is a girl, and she is born with a club foot? No one will ever ask her to dance."
"The baby will be perfect."
"How can you be sure?" she asks wildly.
"Because the baby has a perfect mother," he smiles as he kisses her hand with assurance. "I think, maybe, that buying these books was not a good idea."
"Thank you for trying to calm my mind," she says sweetly, "but you are right."