Dear reader: hi :) whoever left this story's first review on chapter 4, thank you so much! I hope you enjoy chapter 5. It's among my favorites of the 11 that I've written so far. Without further ado...

Wednesday April 26, 1933

10 days until the wedding

I could hear Henry wailing from down the street. Approaching cautiously with a vase of secondhand roses, I gently knocked rather than rang the bell. It wouldn't have made a difference either way; the baby was clearly up and already disturbed. But it was the right thing to do regardless.

Frederick opened the door looking absolutely dreadful. Disappointment clouded his face upon the sight of me – something that rarely happened when a man answered his door to find me on the other side – but he recovered quickly.

"Ah, hey, Rose." He kissed my cheek and stepped aside, running a hand through his chestnut locks. "Come on inside."

"Are you alright, Freddie?" I half-laughed, still bewildered by the look on his face.

"Too tired to explain it, sugar."

"Well, rest up before Friday," I said cheerily. Maybe my happiness would perk him up. It would be a shame for my best friend and her husband to sleep through my engagement party.

I tiptoed towards the nursery. The room was tiny, but they'd certainly made great use of the space. I supposed that was one of the (very) few perks of marrying a carpenter; the furniture arrangements and storage solutions in this house were certainly… creative.

I had to admit, it was a charming home. Just not up to my standards. But of course, I would keep that to myself.

I opened the door to the nursery, eagerly entering into an auditory assault. Henry was nearly aubergine with the effort of his shrieking. Though my ears were ringing, I hardly cared. The second I saw the little angel's face, the rest of the world melted away. Even purple and blotchy from all the sobbing, he was perfect, from his dark brown curly hair to the tips of his tiny toenails. My heart clenched in my chest. Ten more days.

Henry's curls certainly championed his mother's, especially now. It was easy to see where he'd gotten the color and curls from, even though it looked like Vera hadn't washed her own hair in weeks.

"Oh, thank God." Upon catching sight of me, Vera held the infant out. I set the roses on the dresser and happily scooped him up into my arms. His little head rested on my shoulder, crying right into my ear. I had scarcely been happier.

"It's my pleasure," I said sincerely. I had to project a bit to be heard over the baby's bawling. "Shall I go ahead, then?"

Vera's eyes were already closed, her head lolling on the back of her chair. She waved an arm dismissively. "Scram."

I chuckled and turned around, heading for the back door. Frederick was already there, holding it open for me.

"Thank you, sir," I mock-curtseyed, feeling giddy with the baby in my arms.

"Thank you," he said, letting the door swing closed as soon as I was on the back porch.

For all the elegance the house's interior lacked, the Marshall family's backyard lawn more than made up the difference. A garden of sturdy vegetables sat in plain view from the porch, with a small orchard looming behind it. Though it was just the beginning of planting season, there were already little stems poking out from the soil.

I lowered myself onto the porch swing, trying to rein in my ridiculous jealousy. The property was bursting at the seams with new life, from the wailing baby to the well-tended garden. I found myself hoping that my future home, in all its grandeur, would… well, I didn't know what, exactly.

This was far from the Hoovervilles that littered the town and surrounding areas, but it was equally as far from the kind of home that I would make for Royce.

I patted Henry's back and noticed that his skin was alarmingly warm under his tiny clothing. I'd been so blinded by his sheer existence when I had first picked him up that I'd overlooked it. I chastised myself for being so unaware.

Before going back inside to inquire about that, though, I wanted to get his screaming under control. Another justification was that I wanted a few more moments alone with him.

This was our ritual; twice weekly I would stop by the Marshall home with the leftover flowers from Royce's deliveries (they'd started to come so often that my room had begun to lack the space to accommodate) and take the baby outside to give his parents some much-needed relief.

Some days, like today, we sat on the porch. And when the weather was nice enough, I'd take him in his stroller and walk him all through the prettiest parts of Rochester. I showed him the flower beds in the shop windows, introduced his little feet to the grass in the park, and bounced him on my lap until he was exhausted from all his bubbling laughter.

I tried my hardest to pretend that he wasn't mine. But I never corrected anyone who assumed he was. Sometimes, when people asked, I'd lie. But people rarely asked – everyone in town knew who I was.

I would have come to take the baby every day, but Vera insisted that wasn't necessary; and, she'd added, she had her hands so full that she wouldn't be able to do the same for me when my little ones came along. But that was no matter – we would have playdates.

And the playdates would take place at my house, which would surely be more enjoyable for the children. Though it would be good for my progeny to see how the less fortunate lived, for some perspective… so perhaps we would alternate.

The fresh air was doing Henry some good. His shrieking had dulled into whining, punctuated by the smallest little hiccups. I kissed his forehead and inhaled deeply, my nose to his head. The way babies smelled never failed to intoxicate and hypnotize me. My body reacted to the scent instinctively, a surge of protectiveness swelling in my chest. He wasn't even mine, and I would have done anything for him.

Ten days… ten days…

I couldn't stay in my fantasy for very long. Henry was not my child. I was very close to having a baby of my own, but I did not have one yet. As long as I stuck to the script of the meticulously tended future that had been crafted for me, I would have a baby of my own in approximately nine months and ten days. I pulled my nose away from his curls and observed him.

When I had a child, his hair would not be as thick just yet. The fairer-haired bundles of joy tended to remain mostly bald until the toddler years.

My child's eyes wouldn't be brown, like Henry's, like Frederick's. His eyes would be ice blue, like Royce, or indigo, like me. Or some divine combination of the both of us.

Looking at him now, considering the context, I realized he was completely, purely, wholefully average, in a wonderful way. Save for the fever, he was in close to perfect condition, as far as infants went – but because he wasn't mine, he would unfortunately never measure up. He couldn't.

That information did not make him and his parents any less than, in my eyes. But it was undeniable. It was a fact. The world only spun in one direction. Time would prove me right.

And I would remain a faithful friend to Vera and godmother to Henry for the rest of my life. At least their proximity to me might give them a second-hand glimpse of splendor.

As I rocked on the porch swing, I warmed with the knowledge that Henry's distress had eased somewhat. I was born for this exactly. Ten days.

I kissed his soft forehead, measuring his temperature with my lips. Still much too warm.

I took a deep breath and stood slowly, trying not to jostle him. He stared back at me with wide brown eyes that were too big for his head and continued his monosyllabic verbal offerings.

Just because he was no longer screaming did not mean his suffering had ceased. He was exhausted from fighting whatever ailment had the nerve to infect him.

Back in the house, Frederick was trudging through the foyer, about to head out for work, apparently. I peeked my head into the nursery to see that Vera was passed out asleep in the exact spot I'd found her in earlier. I moved Henry so that he was on my chest with his head over my shoulder, facing the opposite direction; I didn't want him to see Vera and start up again. I deftly turned the light off and closed the door.

"Did you leave the baby outside?" Frederick's voice floated from the front of the house.

"What kind of woman do you take me for?" I furrowed my brow and stepped into the room he occupied, providing proof that his son had not been left to the elements, but simply calmed by my naturally maternal presence.

Frederick shook his head and put on his hat, rolling his eyes at himself. "Of course. Apologies, Rosie. If things get too quiet with babies in the house, that usually means somethin's up."

As if I didn't know that already.

But I didn't want to challenge a man in his own house, so I just nodded.

He shrugged into a coat over his jumper and overalls. "I'm off to the workshop – stick around as long as you'd like, kitten." Then he started walking towards the nursery where Vera was asleep.

I informed him that his wife had knocked out for the foreseeable future, but he didn't change his course. He ducked his head in, leaned down to kiss her temple, and softly closed the door.

"You'll be alright on your own if anyone comes to the door?" he asked, heading for the front.

I nodded. "Are you expecting company?"

He scrunched his eyes shut and tilted his head back. "...I honestly can't remember. Hey, here's a parenting tip for the future Mrs. King – sleep whenever you can, wherever you can, while you still can."

I held my tongue, because I did not need to gloat to this exhausted man about how I would have both wet and dry nurses to attend to my little ones day and night. I would be able to sleep as much as I wanted. Instead, I answered truthfully: "I can't wait to put your advice to use."

He smiled and bent until he was face-to-face with his son. He delicately stroked a thumb across Henry's cheek, kissed his forehead, and then stepped out the door, locking it behind him. There wasn't too much need – this was a fairly nice neighborhood.

…Not as nice as mine or Royce's, but I would be safe enough.

For the next hour, I waltzed around the single story house with the baby in my arms. Today, I didn't pretend Henry was mine; rather, I considered this a dress rehearsal. The ten remaining days had put things into perspective for me. I didn't need to pretend anymore. My impending pregnancy was practically written in stone.

I rarely engaged in housekeeping on my own, but given that the Marshalls were all away at work, asleep, or ill, I figured I might as well. It really wasn't so hard, picking up dirty clothes and putting them in the hamper as I came across them. I straightened out the rumpled living room rug with my foot. I arranged the chess board, all set for a new game. I returned the coats that had been laid over the armchair and forgotten to their hanging post by the door. I didn't even have to put the baby down.

I was rearranging glassware in the dining room with one hand when the doorbell rang. I stiffened. Henry, mercifully, had fallen asleep minutes earlier – but, sure enough, his mouth twisted as he began crying once more.

I prayed he wouldn't wake Vera. I hadn't had enough time with him.

A soft knock followed about half a minute after the bell. Frederick had said there was the possibility of a visitor before he'd left… and I didn't want Vera waking up to answer the door. She might take the baby away from me.

I crept up to the front and peered through the door hole. Out of absolutely nowhere, the hair raised on the back of my neck, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was an absolutely nonsensical reaction. Dr. Cullen had never been anything but nice.

But what was he doing at the Marshall house…?

I collected myself and cracked open the door. "Good afternoon, Dr. Cullen."

He smiled gently and tipped his hat, as if entirely unsurprised to see 1932's Miss New York in this shabby dwelling. "Miss Hale. Mr. Marshall called for me, is he here?"

Of course. For the baby. Frederick had called for the doctor to come see the sickly baby. The sickly baby that was wailing in my arms at that very moment.

I was pacified entirely as I came back to my senses, remembering that he was indeed a decent man who was clearly not here for any malevolent reason. Quite the opposite – he was here to help. He was here to help the baby. Silly to have been nervous. I must've been twitterpated.

He was ridiculously handsome, after all.

"Of course. Come in," I opened the door all the way and stepped aside. He bowed his head and entered the house, hanging his hat on the rack. I stared after him, intrigued. I almost forgot to shut the door.

I was grateful that I'd just tidied up a bit, though the place was still less than impressive. I was embarrassed to be seen here by the likes of a man as good-looking as Dr. Cullen. He looked out of place among the discounted decor. I wondered if I looked the same way to him. I wondered if he was judging me. I certainly didn't belong in a house like this.

Then again, it was unusual to see Dr. Cullen anywhere outside of the hospital unless he was making a house call. He, his wife, and his brother-in-law rarely showed their faces in society. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why.

While people delighted in the sight of me, they were enraptured by the sight of the Cullens. They were interrupted, taken aback, stunned. With me, they were admiring; with them, they were hypnotized. There was a distinct difference.

I could hypnotize anyone with my looks, sure. But if I had their… whatever it was, I wouldn't even have to try.

There had been a moment in time when I'd thought Edward Masen, Esme Cullen's brother, would've made a fine husband. We would certainly have made gorgeous babies. But the Cullen family scarcely involved themselves in social gatherings, so I almost never got an opportunity to charm him.

The only real chance I got was on Election Day, when I spotted them at the ballot box. I wasn't voting, of course.

But I watched Dr. Cullen's wife, Esme, proudly cast her ballot with a smile so illustrious that it made me actually nauseated.

I'd been thinking daggers at her, naturally, as she was the only woman in the room — in the state — who was better looking than me.

My stomach settled when I remembered why I still had a leg up on her, though.

Esme Cullen couldn't have children.

The rumor around Rochester was that she'd been in some sort of "accident" years ago, which had rendered her infertile.

I did, truly, feel bad for her. And her beauty hadn't gone completely to waste; she'd snagged the handsome doctor, after all.

What I really wanted to know was why Dr. Cullen stayed with her. Of course Esme was beautiful, but that was… about it.

It was then that I found myself staring into the strange golden eyes of Edward Masen. The way he looked at me had been so unfamiliar that I briefly wondered if I'd been hallucinating.

He looked away pretty quickly, taking on an expression of… absolutely nothing. Complete and total apathy. Not the slightest bit of interest.

And then he'd made it to the front of the line. He stepped forward, cast his ballot, and left the premises without so much as a second glance.

I was so taken aback by his apparent lapse in vision that I remembered it, even now. And I never saw any of the Cullens or Masens after that day.

Whether they refused invitations or were rarely offered them in the first place, they lived a hermit-like life of academics, just out of town. It seemed to suit them just fine.

And I did not miss them. Election Day had left me with a sour taste in my mouth.

He was the only man I'd met whose gaze hadn't lingered.

Well, other than Doctor Cullen.

It irritated the Hell out of me.

The doctor was a married man who seemed to be of decent morals. It was honorable of him to feign a lack of interest for his wife's sake. Respectable, even.

Edward's refusal to acknowledge me — at all — had been a thorn in my side for months, but meeting Royce was a balm. He was a much better match in the end. I'd have my prince in only ten days.

And for the moment, I was alone with Dr. Cullen, with precious cargo in my arms and no thoughts at all in my head.

Had he asked me a question? "What was it you needed, Doctor?"

"Mr. Marshall's whereabouts, miss."

Ah. "He headed out about an hour ago, actually. Vera is asleep in the nursery."

Dr. Cullen tsked. "It's a shame to wake a sleeping mother, especially a new one… but I cannot treat the child without at least one parent's consent. Do you think –"

"– That my consent would be suitable? I'm sure it wouldn't bother Frederick."

"...No," he smiled, and I was briefly enraged. How were his teeth so white? I needed his secret, or I needed to come up with something on my own that would achieve a similar result. A better result. And definitely before the wedding. "I'm afraid I'll need a blood relative or legal guardian to provide permission. I was going to ask if waking the lady of the house was a possibility– "

"Without question." I whisked past him and kicked in the nursery room door, holding Henry with one arm and pulling the string that toggled the lamp with the other.

Vera stirred, her forehead creasing as her brow furrowed. She must've been sleeping like the dead, but I didn't care about waking her up anymore. Her consciousness was now instrumental to Henry's well-being, and thus, my well-being. She would be grateful that I'd done her this kindness.

I stamped my foot on the curve of the rocking chair, making it swing forward quickly, then backwards with an equal amount of force. Vera yelped, her hands dashing to the arms of the chair to steady it.

"Time to awake," I spoke-sang, perhaps a bit too rudely. "Dr. Cullen is here for Henry."

She rolled her shoulders and blinked a few times. "Right. Thanks, Rose."

I knew she'd thank me.

Leaning back out of the doorway, I sought out the doctor's blond hair and blanched complexion, still waiting gorgeously in the entryway. "The nursery is this way," I called.

When he entered the baby's room, Vera stood, swaying on her feet as her equilibrium evened out. "Dr. Cullen–"

"Sit," he commanded, putting a compassionate hand on her shoulder. She sunk back into the chair as if his hand had weighed as much as an elephant, smiling appreciatively.

I, for one, was annoyed. She'd just gotten a full hour of sleep, her child was sick, and there was a man in her home. I couldn't imagine any circumstance where I would've preferred a nap over the comfort and security of my child and guest.

…Though, I supposed, I was glad she could get some rest before the engagement party.

"May I?" Dr. Cullen queried Vera, his hands reaching out towards Henry.

"Please," she said as I simultaneously uttered, "Absolutely."

And Dr. Cullen lifted the little miracle out of my arms.

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