A/N: Hey, everyone! Here is the chapter I've been dreading posting. I don'thate this chapter, it just made me really sad writing it.
Warning: This chapter may include upsetting material.
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Meet the Robinsons.
Please read & review to let me know how I'm doing. :)
Enjoy!
Chapter 8: Dark Day at the Robinson House
August 2020
"What is this?" Cornelius asked, looking at the papers that had been tossed on his desk.
Dr. Ekhardt leaned over the desk. "Court papers. That idiot is actually going to sue us."
Cornelius quickly opened the envelope, reading the statement. "You're joking," he deadpanned at the older man. Dr. Ekhardt shook his head and Cornelius laughed humorlessly. "Does he seriously think he's going to win a case against us?"
"I don't know. He's trying to sue for lost wages on top of whatever else he's asking for," he said in disgust.
"His termination was perfectly justifiable. Damn it, tell me this is all an elaborate joke." Ekhardt shook his head. "Fantastic." Cornelius turned his chair around and looked out the window. "May I have a moment please?"
The older man nodded and quietly exited the room. Cornelius covered his face with his hands, feeling his chest tighten. He had told Franny he wasn't worried, but truthfully, he was scared out of his mind. This was his company and it was being threatened.
As he walked the halls, making his rounds and checking on his employees, he heard the hushed rumors floating around. Whenever a worker saw him, they would look at him out of the corner of their eyes, worry evident on the faces. They all knew Robert Berkman was an egotistical spoiled rich kid who was used to getting what he wanted; word going around was that he wanted a piece of the Robinson pie.
Cornelius tried his hardest to dispel the rumors, always putting on a fake smile whenever he entered a room, letting his employees believe they had nothing to fear. But whenever he would turn to go, they saw the grim expression that would fall upon his features.
Franny was the only one who knew about the lawsuit; Cornelius hadn't even told his parents. Whenever they asked how work was, he would smile and lie through his teeth. Franny acted like she was fine, but in reality, she was worried out of her mind. Since she had conceived, she had been in so much pain, made worse by Cornelius speaking about work. Of course, she would never let her husband know, especially since she was now almost four months pregnant and he would constantly ask her how she was feeling and if she needed anything. Franny was extremely grateful to have a husband so doting and caring, and she didn't want to worry him by telling him she was worried about the baby.
She had gone to the doctor several times, letting them know about the pain, but they had merely given her pain meds and sent her home. Franny knew if she told her husband he would go overboard wanting to fix the problem. Since she had hit puberty, she had always had painful periods; the doctors had told her it was normal, prescribing her birth control to help with the cramps. Franny noticed, though, that whenever she got her cycle, the pain was almost crippling, unlike most girls her age; the most they usually got was minor cramps and nausea. The only thing that seemed to help with the pain was shifting her focus to something else, something more productive. On days when it all got to be too much was when she would find herself in Cornelius' lab, working her fingers to the bone to make her frogs sing, not wanting to let her doctorate in music and bachelor's degree in genetics go to waste.
What made it worse was the fact that Cornelius had started going straight to the lab after work every day, only stopping occasionally to chat with a family member. She had started seeing him less and less frequently as the days became weeks; she didn't mind too much, knowing what he was preparing for.
The court date was fast approaching, and Franny was worried sick. This Berkman guy was not only suing for lost wages but had the gall to demand a portion of the company. Some nights the anxiety got to be so bad she had to hide in the bathroom pretending to have morning sickness just to sneak away and cry.
On the night before court, Franny had found Cornelius sitting on the couch, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the TV catatonically. She quietly sat next to him, her brows creased as she watched him, unblinking, slowly breathe in and out.
"Cornelius," Franny said quietly, her concerned gaze fixed upon her husband. "Sweetheart?" she tried again, grabbing his hand. He licked his lips and finally looked down at her. "You are an extremely intelligent and compassionate man, and I know you would never intentionally hurt anyone or ruin their life." He looked down, but she grabbed his chin and made him look at her. "Everything will work out, I promise. You'll see."
Cornelius took a shaky breath and spoke for the first time since he had gotten home. "Thank you, Franny. You always know what to say." He rested his hand on the back of her head, playing with her hair. "Please stop worrying," he whispered, forcing himself to smile.
Franny couldn't relax all day; her mind kept drifting back to her husband. She wasn't lying, she really did believe everything would work out. There was no real case and Franny was surprised he hadn't dropped the charges altogether, but she tried to busy herself nonetheless. In the morning when Cornelius left with the rest of the family (he had eventually told them about the suit, to which they immediately responded with offers to go with him), she had gone up to the lab to see if she could come up with any new theories or experiments to get her frogs to sing. After an hour or so she had gotten frustrated and gave up, beginning to wonder aimlessly through the house.
She hummed a quiet tune to herself as she drifted into the nursery across from her bedroom; after the family had found out she was having a girl, they all pitched in and surprised her with baby Matilda's own bedroom. She walked across the pink and green room and sat in the rocking chair by the window. "You are my Sunshine" drifted quietly down to Franny's tummy as she sang, rubbing circles on her torso. She grimaced slightly as she felt a faint cramp, her hand pausing for a moment, then starting back up again when it ceased.
Around lunchtime Lucille, who had stayed home to keep Franny company, found her in the living room staring at the wall, obviously having given up on being productive for the time being.
"Franny, dear, I'm going to make a quick run to the store. Do you need anything?"
"Oh, no, that's okay," Franny said from the couch she was relaxing on. "But thanks for the offer."
Lucille smiled and left. Franny sighed, looking up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling another cramp coming on. She frowned, her hand instinctively going to her abdomen again. Something didn't feel right… She shoved the thought out of her mind as she stood up.
Franny's heels clicked loudly in the empty house as she made her way to the kitchen. She pulled down a mug from the cabinet and put on a pot of decaf coffee. Thankfully she could tolerate it again, cringing at the thought of not being able to enjoy one of her favorite beverages. As he sat waiting for the coffee to finish, she frowned, placing a hand on her stomach. She felt another cramp, which lasted a few seconds longer than the last one. She groaned, brows creasing. "What is wrong with me today?" she said, grasping her abdomen. "Oh, not again," she said, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in her abdomen. She gasped, holding her stomach.
The pain persisted for a few seconds, then stopped abruptly. Franny began panting, anxiety rising in her chest as suddenly she felt something wet between her legs. She ran to the nearest restroom, inspecting herself. Fear rose inside her as she pulled up her dress, slowly pulling down her panties. She froze. Blood. She put a hand over her mouth and fumbled with her cell phone.
"Please pick up, please pick up," Franny mumbled, tears already escaping her eyes.
"Hello?" Lucille said, ever her chipper self.
"Mom-mom, please come home," Franny choked out.
"Franny?" Lucille asked worriedly, hearing the panic in her daughter-in-law's voice. "What happened?" she asked as calmly as she could.
"Please," Franny begged. "Come home."
"I'm turning around now," Lucille replied. "Stay calm." Click.
There was a knock on the door, making Franny jump. "Franny?" a concerned voice came from outside.
"Not now, Carl," she said, struggling to catch her breath.
Hearing the panic in her voice, Carl knocked again. "Franny, I can tell something is wrong. Tell me so I can get Cornelius back here-"
"Carl, I said not now!" she yelled back, a choked sob escaping her lips. Carl stepped back, having never heard Franny lose her temper in his existence.
"I'm calling Cornelius," he said, his internal system sending an automated message to his creator's phone.
"Franny?" Lucille yelled, running in the house and looking every which way for her panicked daughter-in-law. "Franny, where are you?"
"She's in there," Carl said, pointing toward a closed door.
"Thank you, Carl," she said, rushing to the bathroom and knocking.
"Carl, please go away," Franny cried desperately.
"It's me, dear."
The door opened, and Lucille's stomach dropped; Franny stood in front of her, her face red and tear stained, her arms wrapped around her lower abdomen as if she were protecting herself. The worst part of the image in front of her, though, was the blood on the floor in front of the sink. Lucille's eyes widened. "Franny, what's happened?" she said, inspecting the young woman.
"I-I think I'm-" she choked out, unable to finish the awful thought.
"Shh. You don't have to say it," she said, and Franny nodded gratefully. "Come on, let's get you to the hospital." She wrapped her arm around Franny as she led her out of the restroom. Carl looked on with as much concern as a robot could muster up. "Carl," she said over her shoulder, "call Cornelius. I don't care what he's doing, tell him to come home."
"Way ahead of ya," he said, already dialing his creator's cell phone.
"I told you, you had nothing to worry about," Bud said, patting his son on the back. They walked down the steps of the courthouse, laughing to themselves at the whole ordeal: Robert Berkman had made such a big deal about suing the great Cornelius Robinson only to chicken out last minute-IN court, right before the final judgement-and drop all charges.
Cornelius chuckled, turning on his phone as he got in his car. "I know. He didn't even have a case. Now he's begging me for his job back." He smiled down at his phone to check the time, only to be bombarded by about fifty text messages and seventeen missed calls from Carl and his mom. He frowned, opening the first text.
CARL: Cornelius, come home as soon as possible. Please.
He was too concerned to find Carl's misplaced manners funny. He opened the next.
CARL: Cornelius, you really need to come home.
CARL: Cornelius, call your mother.
CARL: Cornelius, call your wife.
LUCILLE: You need to come home asap
LUCILLE: Please hurry
As he continued reading the texts, his heart began pounding harder and harder. The one message, though, that sent him over the edge was:
CARL: Cornelius, it's your wife. Come home now.
Cornelius took a shaky breath, turning around in the car. "Change of plans, guys. We're going home."
Sensing something was wrong, Bud asked, "Is everything okay, son?"
Cornelius looked him right in the eye. "It's Franny," he whispered. The car went silent, Art and Gaston sharing a worried glance.
Cornelius had never driven so fast in his life; he thanked his lucky stars he hadn't been pulled over, considering he was practically flying. As soon as the car hit the driveway, he skidded to a halt and ran to the front door, his dad, uncle, and brothers-in-law trying to catch up. A second later, Billie and Joe pulled into the driveway, rushing to the door.
"Ring my doorbell-"
"Not now," Cornelius sneered, making Spike sink down into his pot. The inventor paused at the door and turned toward the rest of the family. "I think it's best if I go in first," he said tightly. The family nodded their heads as Cornelius cracked open the door, taking a hesitant step inside. He half expected Franny to be up in their bedroom, but there she was, on her knees on the floor in the middle of the living room. His heart wrenched; she looked as though she had crumpled over and was clawing at her heart to keep it inside her chest. It took everything in him not to look away as he witnessed the love of his life sobbing desperately into his mother's chest.
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," Lucille said, gently rocking the young woman, trying her hardest to comfort her. "I know, Franny. I know…"
"F-Franny?" Cornelius asked, taking a hesitant step toward his wife. She immediately turned and buried her face deeper into Lucille's chest, her sobs growing stronger. He noticed her entire body shaking as Lucille tightened her grip around Franny's small frame. She looked so small and helpless, nowhere near her usual happy-go-lucky, wonderful self. "What happened?" Lucille looked up at him, eyes solemn and revealing. He felt his body go numb as every repressed thought of the future and timelines being rewritten suddenly filled his thoughts. At last, the final piece of the infuriating puzzle fell into place; all those long nights calculating it all in his head, every minute of lost sleep…it all made sense now: Matilda Robinson was truly never meant to be.
He had hoped and even prayed some nights that he was wrong, that the creeping suspicion was impossible; the few moments he last spent with Wilbur had told him everything he needed to know, yet he didn't want to believe it. There were so many things that it could've meant, this being the one thing Cornelius didn't think imaginable.
"Come on, everyone," aunt Billie said, interrupting his inner turmoil. She motioned for everyone to follow her. "Let's let them be alone."
The room fell silent except for Franny's distressed cries. She gripped Lucille's shirt, her noises stifled by the fabric. Cornelius shook his head, heart filled with fear as they eyed the small box. "No," he whispered, eyes pleading.
Lucille's held his gaze, nodding gravely. Another tear rolled down her cheek.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said sadly, quickly kneeling on the floor next to her and wrapping them both in his embrace. He met his mother's gaze, reaching up and wiping a tear off her face. Lucille smiled sadly, then looked away, not able to stand seeing so much pain in her son's eyes.
Art and Gaston both stood in the doorway, their hearts breaking at the sight of their baby sister hurting. They looked at each other for a moment before reluctantly leaving the room.
At dinner that night, Cornelius made a late entrance, apologizing as he sat at the end of the table. He looked around, thankful that no one was staring at him. Carl came out of the kitchen and presented him with a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. "Thanks, Carl," he said under his breath.
"No problem, boss. Say," Carl said, lowering his voice, "How's Franny doing?" He looked at her empty seat. Everyone looked at Cornelius expectantly.
Cornelius cleared his throat. "Not so good. Franny won't be joining us this evening," he replied apologetically.
"Why not?" Tallulah's small voice came from across the table.
"She's not feeling well," Cornelius tried to explain, but found it difficult to say anything more.
"Why not?"
Cornelius frowned, about to say something, but was thankfully cut off.
"Not right now, Tallulah," Art said, watching his brother-in-law out of the corner of his eye.
Tallulah pouted; Cornelius half smiled at Art gratefully before taking a bite of his food.
"Franny?" Cornelius whispered, resting his hand on her shoulder as he climbed into bed. She laid still, staring at the wall, her eyes bloodshot. "Sweetheart?" he said again, scooting closer to her. Still she said nothing, only closing her eyes as more tears formed. Cornelius sighed, leaning down and kissing her cheek softly. "It'll be okay, sweetheart. I'm right here when you're ready to talk," he whispered into her ear, warpping his arm around her.
The next evening, instead of dinner, the family decided to let Franny and Cornelius have time to themselves to grieve. Franny walked behind Cornelius as he led them to an empty patch of land in the gardens behind the house. When he found what he was searching for her stopped, turning to Franny, his face devoid of emotion.
"This is a good spot," he said, looking out over the hill toward the sunset. "I think she'll be happy right here."
Franny nodded, not wanting to say anything for fear of breaking down again. She looked down at the little wooden box Cornelius had made, her heart aching as she studied the engraving: Matilda Robinson, Our Little Sunshine." A tear escaped her eye; Cornelius stepped forward and quickly wiped it away. "Come on," he said quietly. "Don't want to waste any daylight." She nodded again, kneeling on both knees as Cornelius began shoveling the tiniest hole in the earth.
Cornelius eyed the hole after a few quick jabs, determining it was deep enough. He set the shovel on the ground and kneeled in front of Franny. She tried not to look him in the eye, but his gaze was magnetic; as soon as their eyes locked, she felt the tears welling in her eyes again. Cornelius hated seeing his wife hurt so much, but in this moment, he was sharing her pain; everything he felt he knew she was experiencing tenfold. He placed his hands over hers, both lowering the box into the ground. Franny let her fingers linger on the smooth wood for a moment before she brought a hand to her lips. She kissed the tips of her fingers and lightly touched the lid.
Shakily she whispered, "Goodbye, Matilda."
Cornelius sniffled, wiping the back of his hand against his eyes, drying his own tears. Franny noticed him crying and couldn't stand how much her heart ached as she ran into the house, only looking back before she closed the back door.
The blonde man pulled a small pouch out of his pocket, not bothering chasing after his wife, knowing better than to crowd her when she was emotional. He took a deep breath as he poured the seeds into the ground on top of the box. "Who knows if this will work," he mumbled to himself as he started pulling the dirt back into the box with his hands, "but if it does, at least I'll know you're not alone out here." He sniffed, letting the tears fall freely without fear of being scrutinized. "I love you, Matilda. You would've been my first child and," he choked out, "I'll never forget you."