AUTHOR'S NOTE:

As you see, there was no way I could sit on this chapter any longer - but Friday is technically the beginning of a weekend, isn't it? Anyway, this is quite a ride, so brace yourself and tighten your seatbelts. I hope you'll enjoy it!

"Mr Crawley," Doctor Clarkson starts solemnly, "you do realise that your wife's condition is very serious, don't you?"

They are sitting in the living room of the Countess' Cottage, the doctor on the sofa and Matthew in his wheelchair which he really should have vacated hours ago if his spasming back is to be believed. It's a late afternoon, or maybe even evening, but time has come to mean as little to Matthew as the ever present now pain in his back.

"I could hardly not," he answers, through a throat that is so tight he is barely able to speak. The dread for Mary and the baby has been steadily growing over the last three days – or is it approaching four? It's getting hard to tell – and is threatening to suffocate him by now. She is so poorly, so vulnerable, tossing in bed sheets wet from sweat despite constant changing, and he never, even in the worst moments in the trenches, felt so utterly helpless. She is so lost in her feverish dreams that she does not recognise his voice or touch anymore, and it seems his presence by her bedside scarcely makes any difference to her. Still, he barely leaves it. He can't stand the thought of being away if... anything happens.

"Lord Grantham asked me if there is any chance of saving the baby."

Matthew jerks his head upright and stares at Clarkson.

"Do we need to?"

The doctor is pensive.

"I'm afraid that the matters progressed enough that I should at least have this conversation with you."

Matthew's heart clenches. Oh, Mary!

"But isn't it too early? She is not due for over a month yet..." he chokes.

"It is early, and I won't lie to you, the baby might not survive. Its lungs might not be yet developed enough to manage breathing. But the pregnancy is advanced enough that there is a good chance the baby would live. It seems on a bigger side, which improves its chances."

Matthew swallows.

"But how would it be done? And is it necessary?"

"Mr Crawley, the risk we are facing currently is that in a short time we are going to lose them both. Lady Mary may yet pull through, but it does not look very likely at the moment. If we take her to the hospital and perform a caesarean section we might save the baby, with the caveat if its lungs are mature enough as I said."

"But what about Mary?"

Clarkson looks at him sorrowfully and Matthew feels like he is falling, falling, with no chance to stop it and save himself from this nightmare.

"Caesarean section is always a risky operation, undertaken only in the most dire of circumstances. In Lady Mary's current condition it will most likely be fatal. Her body is so ravaged by the flu she would be very unlikely to survive any infection and although we would have done everything in our power to prevent one, we cannot guarantee it will not occur, especially with her so weak. There is also the matter of anaesthesia – there is a very real risk that with her breathing difficulties already severe due to her illness, using ether may depress her breathing enough to kill her."

"But you surely wouldn't operate on her without it?!"

"No, of course not. But you have to be prepared that it could result in her death."

Matthew rakes his hand through his hair, feeling it stand at weird angles due to pomade and not caring a bit about it.

"So you are saying that if we operate we might have a chance to save the baby, but Mary will die and there is nothing we can do to save her as well?"

"In essentials, yes. There is a chance she would survive the operation, but if the infection occurs, I do not foresee her overcoming it. And that does not even take into account the reason we are even considering it – the very real probability that she will succumb to the flu."

"And if we do not operate, does she have a chance to live?"

"She has, but I must stress again that it does not look good, Mr Crawley. There is a very strong risk that she will not survive the night and the baby with her. I am very sorry to give you such news and I do not envy you the decision which you are facing."

The decision. Yes, he has to make one, doesn't he? But how can he make a decision like that? To give up a chance to save their cherished baby, their little miracle in the middle of war and heartbreak, the only child they would ever have with his condition? To most likely lose both of them, his wife and child? Everything in Matthew is screaming for action, for doing something, for trying to save who he can. Thought of watching helplessly as they are both taken from him makes him feel like drowning.

But to take away whatever small chance Mary still has? Clarkson made it very clear that the try to save their child would be as good as to kill Mary and if there is the smallest chance she could live otherwise, she could pull through, how can he give it up?

He can't. There's no question about it, he can't.

But he may be killing their baby if he doesn't.

"Are you sure she is dying, doctor?" he croaks, his voice breaking. "Are you sure there is no hope for her?"

"I am not," admits Clarkson, "Her condition is extremely serious and I'm afraid the prognosis is very grim, but I cannot say for sure she has no chance at all. The lung damage she suffered from the gas is a complicating factor, and this is a strange and cruel disease, which does seem to affect the young adults, especially pregnant women, more severely for some reasons, but it is often unpredictable in its final outcome. I do not think it's likely Lady Mary will survive the night, but I cannot tell you it's completely impossible."

"Then can we wait? Can we wait to be sure and operate when there is absolutely no hope left for her?"

"We can," says Clarkson reluctantly, "But it carries its own risks. We could take her to the hospital, monitor her extremely closely and try to extract the child as soon as possible when her heart stops. But there would be a risk that even with all possible hurry we would be too late and the baby would die or be severely affected by loss of oxygen."

Matthew puts his head in his hands.

"I have to think. Could you update Mother and Lord Grantham on our conversation? They should know, but I cannot..."

He cannot bear talking about it. He barely can bear thinking about it and yet he must, because he is forced to face a choice. And no matter what horrible bargain with fate he would make, the most likely outcome is still that he will lose his wife, his child or both. He feels as if he is the one dying, struggling for breath.

"Of course, Mr Crawley," the doctor stands up and, after touching his arm briefly in consolation, leaves the room.

Matthew wheels himself back to Mary's bedroom and settles by her bed, taking her hot hand into his. Anna is placing fresh cold compress on her forehead. He notices that she looks exhausted.

"You should go rest," he says tiredly. "I can watch her for now."

Anna purses her lips.

"I would like to stay, sir. I want to help as much as I can."

"This is going to be another long night. Might be better if you get some sleep now, we may need you more later."

Anna looks at him seriously and finally reluctantly nods.

"Please wake me up if you need me," she says. "Or if..."

She stops herself and turns her eyes away.

Matthew swallows painfully.

"I promise," he says hoarsely. "I will call you whether I need your help or if anything changes."

"Please do," repeats Anna quietly and leaves. He is grateful that she didn't put her request into words – that if it is the end, she wants to make her goodbyes to Mary.

He drops his head into his free hand, the other still holding Mary's.

"You cannot leave me," he whispers desperately. "You just cannot. How am I supposed to live without you?"

He notices a light movement of her protruding belly and has to choke down a sob. He puts his hand on it and feels the baby kick it. For the first time, the usually wondrous feeling makes him feel sick.

How can he not do everything in his power to save the life of his only child?

How can he sacrifice Mary to do so?

Would Mary forgive him for the hesitation if it results in the death of their baby?

Would Mary forgive him for killing her in the process of saving their baby?

He is no closer to the answers than when he first asked the questions.

There is a light knock on the door and when he bids them entrance, his mother, Robert and Sybil come in.

"We talked with Dr Clarkson," says Mother quietly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry, my boy."

"She is not gone yet, Mother," says Matthew, his mouth tight. She accepts his rebuke but purses her own lips. He is just grateful she doesn't argue her point.

"How is Cousin Cora?" he asks Robert, trying to postpone the discussion they all came here to have.

"Not good," says Robert, despair etched on his tired face. "Clarkson says that if she survives the night..."

He stops, having to swallow. Matthew looks at him with painful understanding. Robert too is facing possible loss of wife and child by morning.

"What are you going to do?" asks Sybil, her voice choked up, but her face and posture determinedly business-like. She is visibly striving to hold to her Nurse Crawley persona and ignore the fact that her most ill patients are her mother and sister. "Doctor Clarkson said that if we intend to act, we have to do it soon or there will be no point."

"I don't know," answers Matthew hoarsely. He feels Mother's hand squeezing his shoulder. "I just cannot make a choice like that."

"If only we could know whether it's a boy," says Robert, staring mournfully at his unconscious daughter.

They all turn towards him, completely stunned.

"You cannot mean to say that it should make a difference!" exclaims Sybil furiously, barely beating Matthew to it.

"Of course not, but..." stammers Robert, but Sybil does not let him finish.

"So you would sacrifice Mary if you knew it was a boy, but you would hesitate to take the risk if it was a girl?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" denies Robert. "I don't want Mary to die! I don't want my first grandchild to die either! But if we have to make a choice, a horrible and risky choice, to save the baby but very possibly kill Mary in the process... I just would like to know anything which would help. Matthew will never have another child. I am not saying it would make any difference to him whether it's a boy or a girl. But if it would make Mary's son the heir to Downton, I know that this is something she wanted more than anything."

"She does want that," says Matthew coldly, holding the armrests of his wheelchair with white knuckled grip. "But most of all she wants to be a mother. She wouldn't want to save a boy more than she would want to save a girl."

"Of course not," says Isobel firmly. She rubs his shoulder soothingly. "So, you decided to proceed with the caesarean? You're right, Mary did want to become a mother desperately. She would want to do anything to save your child."

"But would she want to sacrifice her own life in the process?" asks Matthew quietly. "Or would she prefer to give herself a chance to live?"

They all remain silent for a long moment and it was this silence that makes them aware of Mary's sudden moan.

"Darling?" asks Matthew urgently, wheeling himself back to their bed and grasping her limp, hot hand. "Do you hear me?"

Mary's hand tightens around his and she moans again, her face twisting in obvious pain, but she remains seemingly unconscious of her actions.

"Mother? Sybil? What is happening?" asks Matthew with sudden fear. Sybil immediately runs around the bed and starts to take Mary's pulse and temperature, but Isobel puts her hand on Mary's belly, frowning thoughtfully and then widening her eyes in disbelief.

"I think she is going into labour," she says. Matthew's eyes widen as well.

"But it's a month too early!"

"The fever must have triggered it. Influenza has been known to trigger miscarriages and early labour."

"But will she be alright? Will the baby?" asks Matthew frantically. He barely notices Robert staring imploringly at Isobel as well, evidently beset with the same questions.

Isobel looks at him seriously.

"It's impossible to say. She is very ill and it might be too much for her. The baby can be affected by her fever or its lungs might be too immature. But it is moving, so it's alive and this is a very good sign at least," she straightens. "Anyway, we have to act now to give them both the best chance possible. Sybil, get Anna and all the necessary supplies – boiling water, clean linens for the birth and more ice water and clothes to help Mary fight the fever. Cousin Robert, call Dr Clarkson immediately and alert him to the situation. Inform him that Mary remains unconscious – he will need to prepare for possible complications."

"What complications?" asks Matthew, nearly voicelessly. Isobel's visible hesitation in answering him does nothing to lessen his terror.

"She might need assistance in getting the baby out, since she won't be able to control the pushing," she explains reluctantly. "But don't worry about that too much. Dr Clarkson has plenty of experience with childbirth and he is good with it. He will handle this part if it turns out to be necessary."

"What am I supposed to do?" asks Matthew pleadingly, yearning for a task. He feels he is going mad with worry and fear. If only there was something he could do!

Isobel opens her mouth, about to send Matthew to drink with Robert and wait, but Sybil beats her to it.

"You can try to keep Mary as calm as possible," she says briskly. "She doesn't know what's happening and why she is in pain. We need to soothe her as much as we can and you are probably the best person to do it. She may respond to your voice and touch, even if she is not fully aware of her surroundings."

Isobel purses her lips doubtfully but seeing Matthew settling by Mary and taking her hand with a determined set of his shoulders she just sighs and doesn't protest. It is all too probable that her boy would lose his wife and only child tonight. She has not a heart to keep him apart from them.

xxx

Matthew has a passing thought that the last few hours will end up eclipsing the war in his nightmares.

Mary hasn't regained consciousness, but her moans slowly get louder and turn into screams. She is in obvious pain and visibly distressed by it. He does his best to hold her hand and stroke her face and hair, talking to her quietly to make her calmer, but he feels perfectly useless until his mother suggests for him to get out of his chair for fear of bedsores. He couldn't care less about it at the moment and is just starting to argue, when Sybil interrupts them and tells him to just lay down on the bed next to Mary. While he accomplishes the manoeuvre, barely restraining a groan from the soreness in his back after hours spent in the wheelchair, Mary's distress visibly increases and only goes down when he touches her again and picks up the steady thread of murmured assurances. Her reaction gives him a much needed renewed sense of purpose and he focuses on his appointed task to the exclusion of most of the other happenings in the birth chamber or any awareness of the passing time.

There is some kind of commotion on Mary's other side, and he realises that his mother is trying to get him to leave. He looks at her incredulously, only now noticing with a jolt of fear that Dr Clarkson seems to prepare some gruesome looking instruments.

"You have to leave, Matthew," insists Isobel impatiently. "The time has come to get the baby out and Mary won't manage it alone. You need to give Dr Clarkson space to assist and we need to keep the environment as clean as possible, to minimise the risk of infection. If it doesn't work, we will have to transport her to the hospital for the caesarean, as dangerous as it would be for Mary now."

Matthew looks pleadingly at Sybil, but when she reluctantly agrees with Isobel, he gets off the bed with her help and wheels himself away. Seeing Mary's hand immediately making small movements as if in search of his stops him cold where he was.

"She needs me!" he says, pointing out what he saw. Before anyone can protest, he wheels himself to the head of the bed, takes Mary's other hand and strokes her brow soothingly.

"I will stay here, out of the way," he says firmly, with a stubborn turn of his lips. "But I won't leave her now if she needs me here."

Obviously deciding that quarrelling with him is pointless, the others do their best to ignore him and focus on the birth. Matthew does everything to keep his eyes averted and look only at Mary's face, although the agony etched on it is breaking his heart all anew.

He is not sure how much time has passed – it seems to him an eternity – when his concentration is broken up by the quiet but unmistakable cry of a baby. He turns his head immediately, gaping at the sight of a small – so small! - dirty infant, held and inspected by his mother and Sybil.

"Thank God!" says Isobel feelingly. "If she is able to cry, it means her lungs should be developed enough!"

She looks at Matthew with teary, shining eyes.

"You have a daughter, my boy. A healthy, beautiful daughter."

Matthew feels his own eyes tearing up and his voice lost. Unable to say anything, he opens his arms in mute application. His mother smiles tremulously and carefully places the baby, wrapped in soft linens, into his arms.

Matthew cuddles the baby and stares. His daughter – his daughter! – is frighteningly small and fragile looking, her tiny head covered in wispy dark hair resting limply in the crook of his arm. Her face is read and scrunched, even though she stopped crying, and she kicks her little foot lightly against his chest.

He has never seen anything more wonderful.

The baby looks back at him with unfocused, dark blue eyes which he's been told most newborns have.

"Hello, my dearest little girl," Matthew greets her hoarsely, finding his voice with effort. "You don't know how much joy you are bringing with you. Just wait till your mama sees you."

He tears his eyes away from his daughter and looks with trepidation at Mary.

She stopped making distressed, painful noises. In fact, she stopped any movement at all, laying completely still and pale, except for very slight movements of her chest when she's breathing. He turns questioningly to Clarkson.

"The birth went as well as could be expected," says the doctor seriously, wiping his washed hands with a towel. "I had to use the forceps to assist Lady Mary, but she did not suffer much damage and does not appear to be in danger of excessive bleeding. If she survives the flu, the birth itself should not impact her chances."

He looks at the infant held protectively in Matthew's arms.

"In fact, it might have been the best thing to happen. The baby looks healthy, albeit small, and doesn't seem much affected by his mother's illness. The natural birth was infinitely less risky than caesarean would be for Lady Mary in her present state. I am optimistic that the baby should survive, at least, which is a better outcome than we feared. We will have to see if Lady Mary will as well, but there is not much we can do but wait now."

He sighs tiredly and starts collecting his instruments.

"I will wash up properly and go to check on Lady Grantham now," he says to Isobel. Sybil smiles at her niece and follows the doctor out, anxious to see how her mother is doing and to bring the happy news to her father and sister who are caring for her with the assistance of O'Brien.

Matthew keeps looking at his daughter until he notices his mother standing next to him.

"She really is a beautiful girl, Matthew. As beautiful as you were."

"What now, Mother?" he asks, suddenly unsure of what he is supposed to do. He was so focussed on supporting Mary through her ordeal that he feels bereft now that it is over. Except it isn't really over, is it? He swallows thickly, fighting tears. Mary can still succumb to her illness at any moment. The baby squirms and makes a mewling noise, which makes him look at her in alarm.

"She is probably hungry," smiles Isobel, and reaches to take the baby. Matthew's hands instinctively tighten on her until he forces himself to relinquish his daughter to her grandmother. It isn't as if he has any idea how to feed his daughter or do anything else really, other than cuddle her.

"What are we going to do?" he asks anxiously. "Mary obviously cannot nurse her now and we do not have a wet nurse arranged... or a nanny."

"We will prepare baby formula for her," says Isobel calmly, and he never was so grateful for her non-nonsense demeanour. "I will instruct Mrs Patmore how to do it and send somebody to the hospital to fetch some baby bottles. For now, Anna can watch her – she got the most rest of us all – and then I am sure Edith and Sybil can help you until we find somebody. I will show you all how to change her and feed her. Taking care of her is going to be quite easy now, she has simple needs – just rather exhausting because she needs to be fed, changed and soothed every few hours. But we will figure it out, you'll see."

Matthew nods tiredly, immensely grateful to her for taking charge. For himself, he craves nothing more than rest. And yet, how can he rest with Mary's fate uncertain?

Isobel gives him a critical look.

"You should go to bed," she says firmly. "You will be no good to Mary or your daughter if you don't rest. Go to your room and get William to assist you into bed, I don't think you have the strength right now to haul yourself up."

She stops him before he can protest against leaving Mary.

"Sybil will come in a moment to take care of her and I know she will wake you up immediately if there is any change, for good or ill. Please rest, my boy. You will need your strength in the coming days, whatever happens."

Matthew acquiesces with a weary nod after he realises he has no strength left to quarrel. With great effort, he wheels himself to his room where he rings for William. It seems to him his valet shows up immediately – either he's been waiting for his summons behind the door or Matthew is so tired his mind has not registered the lapse of time.

"I heard congratulations are in order, sir," says William, grinning at him, then quickly growing serious. "How is Lady Mary?"

"She is still desperately ill," says Matthew, allowing William to put him to bed and waving off his assistance with changing him into pyjamas, asking only to have his shoes removed. He is much too exhausted for anything else.

He falls asleep before William leaves the room, his thoughts circling tiredly around his wife and daughter.

xxx

He is woken up by Sybil shaking his shoulder and sitting up in panic before his frightened brain registers a tremulous, wide smile on her face.

"She is better, Matthew!" she says at once. "Her fever has broken and she is conscious! She asked for you."

Matthew doesn't remember ever feeling just so damned relieved in his life. Maybe when an ambulance was shelled and he learnt it wasn't the one driven by Mary. It is a good thing that Sybil matter-of-factly assists him into his chair, because he is trembling too much to transfer into it himself.

She also wheels him into Mary's room and leaves him by her bed.

"I will go to Anna for the newest report on the baby," she says brightly, smiling widely at Matthew and her sister.

Matthew's eyes can't get enough of the sight of his wife, sitting up propped by pillows, with her chocolate eyes open, looking at him with recognition. Her hand is cool and dry when he takes it into his.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he blurts out before she has a chance to speak. He nearly weeps from relief when she squeezes his hand back and smiles at him weakly.

"You're not getting rid of me so easily," she rasps. He immediately reaches with his free hand for the water glass standing on the nightstand and hands it to her, steadying it when he notices that her hand is shaking. She nods gratefully when she is done.

"Sybil told me we have the baby," she says, with a puzzled frown. "It is so strange. I fell asleep pregnant and I woke up with the baby out of my belly."

She sends him a shrewd look before he can answer.

"What is it then? Do we have a boy or a girl? Sybil just told me the baby is healthy!"

Matthew feels himself smiling, even as slight apprehension rises in him.

"A daughter," he says quietly, happily, the wondrous memory of a tiny miracle in his arms filling his brain. "We have a daughter. And she is beautiful."

"A daughter," Mary leans back against her pillow, looking stunned. "Papa must be disappointed."

"Your Papa," says Matthew dryly, "has barely left the nursery since he woke up this morning, at least according to Sybil. I rather doubt disappointment is the strongest emotion on his mind." He looks searchingly at Mary. "Are you terribly disappointed, my darling?"

He doesn't know how he's going to handle it if she is – he can hardly stand the thought of anyone reacting to his daughter with anything other than wonder and joy – but he tells himself that whatever disappointment Mary can voice now can't last long. He can't imagine it surviving seeing the miracle that is their little girl.

Mary looks pensive for a long while, mulling it over, before her features settle into determination.

"I'm not," she announces, and something heavy and hard dissipates in Matthew's chest. "It would have made things easier if she was a boy, but I'm never going to be disappointed that she isn't. We will make sure she's going to get everything anyway," she raises her eyes to meet Matthew's, suddenly appearing unsure. "We will fight for her, won't we?"

"Always," vows Matthew immediately. "There's no way in hell I wouldn't. She's our baby, Mary. There's nothing more precious than she is."

Mary slumps slightly against the pillows, looking calmer.

"A daughter," she says softly, then shakes her head. "It still doesn't feel real. You've seen her – how does she look?"

"She's the most beautiful baby in the universe," starts Matthew, and then jumps into describing every minuscule detail he remembers, from the murky blue of her big eyes to the perfection of her tiny toenails and the way she kicked against his chest. Mary listens with rapt attention and smiles fondly when he's finally out of things to say.

"I see she has her father fully wrapped around her finger already," she comments dryly. "I bet you'd be dancing a jig right now if you could."

"I am dancing a jig!" admits Matthew with a laugh. He laughs even more at her raised eyebrows. "Figuratively, at least. I feel like I swallowed a box of fireworks. You are getting better and we have a daughter!"

"I wish I could see her," says Mary wistfully, "But Sybil said we cannot risk her getting the flu from me. I might be contagious yet."

She looks at Matthew anxiously.

"You don't feel at all sick, do you?"

Matthew shakes his head.

"Not in the least," he assures her. "And it won't be long before you will be able to see her. Few days at the most, I'm sure."

Mary nods, but still looks unhappy. He scrambles for a distraction.

"Do you know what you would like to name her?" he asks. "Or would you prefer to see her first?"

Mary perks up.

"I want to do it now. It seems weird to call her "the baby" when we know she is a girl."

"So? Any preferences?" he asks with a smile, glad that his distraction worked at cheering her up.

"You will tell me 'I told you so', but I only considered names for a boy," admits Mary a little peevishly. Matthew only raises his eyebrows, but magnanimously holds his tongue. He is too giddy with relief and joy to tease her much about it, at least today. "Have you given it any thought? You were the one to insist it's a girl."

Matthew inhales deeply.

"I did," he says, for some reason feeling strangely shy now when he's going to give voice to those thoughts. He doesn't know why, it's not like he expects Mary to laugh at him over it – she can be even more prone to dramatic fancies than he is at times – but he still needs to give himself a mental smack before he tells her. "I was thinking that for all that she was conceived in the middle of the worst war humanity fought so far, she was born in peace. And even before she was born, when she was still just a possibility, before we knew yet of her existence… she was already representing hope for peace. So I was thinking of naming her Irene, for the Greek goddess of peace."

"A name of an empress too," says Mary thoughtfully. "I like it. Peace and strength, two things I want for her."

Matthew's grip on her hand tightens and once again he finds his voice threatening to fail him, if thankfully for a wholly different reason than last night.

"Irene Crawley then?" he asks softly, adding the name to the face he's seen all too briefly but memorised to the smallest detail.

Mary's eyes flash in her tired face.

"Lady Irene Crawley, eventually. The heiress of Downton," then she smirks slightly. "Lady Irene Sybil Crawley, I'd say. After all, if it wasn't for her aunt's mad escapades, I don't think she'd ever come to be born. You'd have married Lavinia and had a flock of perfectly behaved blonde little angels instead. I wouldn't hope for my daughter to be half as accommodating. If you haven't heard before, I used to be an unholy terror as a child."

Matthew laughs, absolutely convinced that Mary is right and there is no chance that any child of theirs is going to turn placid and obedient – after all, they both have the infamous Crawley stubbornness in spades – but then he sombers, his hand tightening on Mary's again.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you – and for Sybil, I suppose, since she's the reason you were there in the first place. You saved me, Mary, in more ways than I can express."

"And you saved me, darling," she answers seriously. "In more ways than you can ever realise."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Did I research giving birth while unconscious for this chapter? Absolutely, and thanks to the 'twilight sleep' trend - giving birth under full anaesthesia - there's actually surprisingly plenty of sources. Still, I'm nowhere near a medical professional, so please write off any inaccuracies to Fellowes' school of medicine ;)

We're not completely done with the Spanish Flu arc, but I liked the thought of leaving them in this moment.

As for the baby, in the original draft of this chapter it was George. However, over the course of rewriting this story and much reflection during it, I changed my mind. I think giving them a daughter in those circumstances is actually more meaningful, especially for Mary. I'll be happy to hear your thoughts on it and on any other parts of this chapter!