Plans are meant to be nixed
I didn't know how long our journey back to Havanna took, but it felt like an eternity until Faulkner hesitantly entered the cabin and announced that the crew was ready to drop anchor. I believed Connor would leave me at this point to watch the manoeuvre but he ordered Faulkner to send Olivia on shore to get a doctor and stayed by my side. I was incredibly grateful for it. The pain kept coming in irregular intervals and every time I begged God not to take my unborn child. Except for his occasional words of comfort, Connor and I didn't speak. He watchfully knelt beside the bed, held my hands and occasionally dapped a cool cloth over my sweaty forehead. These gestures did more than his comforting words since I could hear the helplessness in his voice. For him, this whole situation must be as terrible as it was for me. The fear for the child and seeing me in pain, struggling against my desperation and he couldn't do anything about it.
When the cabin's door opened again, Olivia entered, a hefty, seemingly resolute woman in her tow.
"I couldn't find a doctor on such short notice, so I brought a midwife," Olivia explained and with a nod, Connor beckoned the woman over. I doubted though, that she had needed this gesture.
"I need warm water, cloth and certainly no audience," she explained in perfect English while approaching us with brisk steps but with his last words, she didn't seem to mean Olivia alone. Her dunning gaze was especially turned at Connor, who tightened the grip around my hands at first, but gave in when I nodded at him. This whole thing couldn't be relayed any longer, just because he wanted to stay by my side. I appreciated it, but right now it was more important that this woman helped me and especially our child. She watched him like a hawk as he left the sleeping area before she stepped to the bed and sat on its edge.
"My name is Brenda May. Kenway, am I correct?"
"Lillian, yes." I nodded and wanted to add something, but took a hissing breath as my lower body contracted again. Brenda immediately pushed my clamping hands away and tugged my blouse and shift out of my skirt, to lay her warm hands on my bare belly and feel it.
"For how long is this going on?"
"I'm…not sure." It was hard to speak or even think about her question. But it was Connor, who had a better knowledge of the past minutes than expected.
"About two hours," he said from his spot behind the open curtain and received a short nod.
"The intervals?"
"Quite irregular," I was able to say after all. "Five minutes, sometimes fifteen. The duration varies, too. Are they contractions?"
Brenda nodded again without looking away from her hands and made me close my eyes, taking a deep breath. After the short hope I had felt with her entrance and although the pain was subsiding, I was seized by fear and desperation again.
"It's way too early," I whispered, more to myself and laid my hands back on my belly after Brenda pulled away hers. At this moment, there was a knock on the cabin's door and Connor disappeared for a moment before returning with a bucket of water and clothes. Brenda thanked him shortly as she took them, but ordered him to leave the room.
"I will not." Connor raised his chin and I recognized the expression that often made me jokingly compare him with an angry ox. To be sent away obviously caused resistance in him and I was glad about it. I wanted him here, but the midwife shook her head and even pushed against Connor's chest, to make him back up through the open curtain. She earned an even more grim look, but she wasn't bothered by it.
"I don't need a man nearby, who's peeking over my shoulder while I'm working and probably even tries to tell me what I should and shouldn't do."
"I am not going to do any of that."
"You're saying that now, but I have my principles. So, out with you." And with that, Brenda pulled the curtain shut, which was equivalent to shutting a door in someone's face. I expected Connor to march back in, but I heard him scoff and mutter something in his mother tongue before his stomping steps moved to his desk. No, he still didn't plan on leaving the room. Out of sight, but certainly not out of mind and with this thought, I had to smirk, despite everything.
"He really wouldn't have talked into your work," I said quietly as Brenda sat back on the edge of the bed and started thoroughly washing her hands with a piece of soap she took out of her bag.
"I don't care," she replied shortly. "Like I said: I have my principles. You cannot imagine the men I dealt with. The interest of most of them doesn't extend the length of their offspring's genitalia and if that or anything else doesn't meet their expectations, they act as if it's their wife's or my fault. If your husband isn't one of them, you are lucky, but I don't care."
Brenda dried her hands with one of the cloth and asked me to lift my skirt so that she could examine me. I did it with some discomfort, but this gruff woman was very careful in her work. After she asserted that I wasn't bleeding, she could finally give me the relieving information that she couldn't find anything that indicated a miscarriage. Still, she was very serious while she washed her hands again and I was allowed to straighten my clothes.
"Where are you heading?"
"Back home. We live near Boston and only left today."
"It's a journey that takes about a week, am I right?"
I nodded and Brenda mirrored the gesture thoughtfully. "Mrs Kenway, how many times have you been pregnant before?"
"This is my second pregnancy. We have a two-year-old daughter."
"Did you have any problems during the pregnancy or the birth?"
I shook my head but was confused about the questions that didn't make any sense to me. "So, is everything alright or not?" I asked uneasily. "If I'm not suffering a miscarriage, why the contractions?"
"There can be several reasons." Brenda pulled her bag closer and began rummaging in it, causing glasses to clatter against each other, while she kept talking. "Some women seem to be prone to miscarriages or difficult pregnancies. I expected you to be one of them, seeing your husband in comparison to you. But since you told me your daughter was birthed without complications…"
"What does my husband have to do with it?"
"Well, he's quite tall and sturdy, you are quite petite. I helped some women during the birth, whose children were too big for their small pelvises, so it took them a lot of strength to birth them. Unfortunately, not all of them made it, but that shouldn't scare you." She gave me a look that was neither comforting nor touched by her words. But they made me gulp. Every woman knew that giving birth was risky, but that one of these risks could apply to me because of the man I chose…
"...caused by emotional or general distress. Such as a long journey."
I shook my head as if it could turn my thoughts back to my surroundings because Brenda had kept talking, unbothered by my inner absence and took a small pouch out of her bag.
"Mr Kenway, since you're standing around back there, you will certainly find a way somewhere on this ship, to brew a tea for your wife, will you not?" she asked smugly towards the curtain that was now pulled aside to make room for Connor's grim face. She turned back to me and simply handed the pouch to Connor. "In there are hops, lemon balm, Saint John's wort and thyme. Tastes disgusting, but will help against the contractions. Drink a cup now, tonight and from tomorrow on, thrice a day until the pouch is empty. The tea should take effect soon, but that doesn't mean that all is good."
Connor had taken the pouch by now, weighing it in his hand. The grim expression on his face had vanished and now he simply appeared concerned.
"What does that mean?" he asked. "Could she still lose the child?"
Brenda nodded and I immediately pressed my hands against my belly. That wasn't what I wanted to hear.
"The contractions are a warning from your body, Mrs Kenway," the midwife turned to me again. "If you want to carry this child for a few more months, you should go easy on yourself and I don't simply mean avoiding hard work. At least for the next few weeks, you should keep bed rest until your body comes to rest. I recommend to not continue your travel until then."
"But…that's impossible." My eyes searched Connor's, who seemed rather thoughtful than shocked by this news. "We've been away from home for months and I think I can recover there better."
"I'm only talking about two, maybe three weeks. Until you recover and then it will be up to you, if and when you continue your journey. For the sake of your child, I would advise against it for now." Brenda rose from the edge of the bed and shouldered her bag, while she turned to Connor, who immediately took a step back to let her through. The midwife disappeared from my field of vision but not my earshot.
"A ship is not the right place for your wife, even if she has a bed here. She needs rest and not the rocking of waves and bawling of men on deck. If you care about your offspring, you will listen to my advice. Furthermore, it would be better if you would abstain from reminding your wife of her marital duties."
A short silence.
"I do not know what that means."
Biting my lip, I tried to hold back a quiet and embarrassed laughter. I wasn't surprised that Connor didn't understand this hint and you had to give him credit for it. He didn't know that European women were obliged to their husbands in such a way and even if he did, I knew that he would never demand it from me. But this lack of knowledge brought him into an uncomfortable situation, although he certainly didn't see it that way.
"Well, in this case, you should ask yourself how this child happens to be in your wife's belly," Brenda said dryly and shortly afterwards, I heard the door opening and closing.
Then it grew silent until I uttered a muffled cry of pain when another contraction started. Connor hurried to me immediately, the pouch of herbs still in his hands.
"It's fine," I managed to say and took a deep breath to slowly release it through my mouth. "Would you bring me the tea, please?"
Connor blinked without showing another reaction, but then he lowered his eyes to the pouch and only now he seemed to remember it. He nodded, turned to leave, but then back to me as if he wasn't sure if she should leave me alone. But right now, he couldn't do anything more but bring me the tea and he knew it. Wordlessly and with hurried steps, he left the cabin and left me in silence. Alone with the pain and alone with my fear. Even though the midwife had taken some of it from me, it was still there especially since Brenda hadn't given an all-clear. If I lost the child or not depended solely on me and my body and this thought was even more frightening because what if the midwife's instructions didn't pay off? During her pregnancy, a woman was the safeguarding vessel in which her child could grow unscathed. She wasn't only responsible for her own well-being and that meant that whatever was good for her, was good for her child as well. At least I had always been convinced of it especially during and after my pregnancy with Emily. But what if I didn't have as much control over the well-being of my unborn child as I thought?
The pain slowly ebbed down again and my tensed body relaxed. I ran my hands over my clothed belly in gentle, circling motions and the thought that the baby could feel it was more comforting than anything.
"Now listen to me, my little mite," I whispered, firmly believing that it could hear me, too. "You need to hold on fast, yes? I promise I will take good care of and protect you. Now and always." I sniffed as my eyes filled with tears but although my voice began to shake, I kept talking. "I want to hold you in my arms soon and see your father hold you, too. And I want your sister to meet you. You are already so loved…please stay with us, will you?"
A quiet noise by the curtain made me raise my head in a jerk and I looked straight into Connor's face, marked by his struggle to hold back his emotions. Fear, hope, love. Everything I felt as well and the lump in my throat grew when I thought back to how he must have felt these past few hours.
"I have the tea," he said unnecessarily since I already noticed the steaming cup in his hand. I took it carefully when Connor stepped to the bed and handed it to me. The cup was still warm, but just like its content, not too hot. The yellow-green liquid exuded a very herbal, aromatic scent that caused me nausea but the taste of the first sip was even worse. It was hard to describe. Bitter but also sweet and stale. Not a tea I would drink to enjoy, but I didn't have to. Only the thought of my child made me gulp down the disgusting drink and I was grateful as Connor stood up to get me a cup of fresh water. It couldn't wash the taste off my tongue but made it more bearable.
Connor sat on the edge of the bed motionless, his eyes lowered and when I noticed that he stared at my hand that rested on my belly, I reached out for his and placed it on the small bump. My husband came back to life again, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath and I saw him gulping.
"I am sorry, Lillian," he said in a quiet, husky voice. "The midwife said the contractions could be caused by distress. I should have told you about Caleb's decision sooner, maybe it would not have come that far then."
I sighed. Did he believe that? I shook my head. "It would have distressed me either way. No matter when and how you would have told me."
Wasn't that obvious? After all, it hadn't been solely about this decision being made by Caleb, Connor and Consuela without my knowledge. As if I didn't deserve to know and as if I had to accept everything. It hadn't been solely about that but thinking about it now, this had hurt me the most. The feeling of being ignored and not valued, together with the fear for Caleb's wellbeing.
"You are angry with me." It was no question but an assessment Connor uttered without the hint of an allegation or any emotion at all. A very correct assessment.
"Yes," I answered honestly and just as simple whereupon Connor straightened up even more and tensed his shoulders so that he appeared like a tin soldier. As if he was preparing for the next fight which I wanted to avoid. Even though I didn't intend to keep my thoughts from him.
"I am angry with you because I feel like a mother, although I am not Caleb's. I want to protect him and thought we were working on that together."
"We do. For years we did everything to let him grow up and now he is, Lillian."
"But that doesn't mean we should stop caring."
"Of course not." Connor frowned at the absurdity of this thought. "But we have to let him go. He is a bird, spreading its wings for the first time to leave the nest."
A beautiful metaphor. But what happened to a bird that left its nest too soon? It fell and if it didn't die, it would break its wings or wouldn't be found by its parents ever again and die. I wasn't sure if Caleb was ready, yet. If he could estimate the consequences of his actions and decisions. Did it mean that I wasn't trusting him enough, as Connor had said before we had set sail? Was I underestimating him? It was hard to tell because, despite all the trust I wanted to have in Caleb, the thought of him becoming an Assassin was simply scary. Every fibre of my being struggled against it and at the same time, these irritating, years-old voices became louder, accusing me of being a hypocrite. That I let Connor go. That I accepted him for who he was and always said I would support him no matter what. Wanted to keep his back when he was on the road. Wanted to give him a home when he returned. I wanted to treat his wounds when he suffered them and clean his coat from his and the blood of others and mend it so that it kept protecting him. Because I loved him. Because I had known who he was when I had fallen in love with him. Why couldn't I do the same for Caleb?
For the same reason. Because I loved him.
"I am scared of…being scared," I said quietly and with a shaking voice. "Not only for you but for him, too. You cannot deny that this path is a dangerous one."
"No, I cannot." Connor moved a bit closer to me and took his hand from my belly to grab mine with both his hands. They were cold. His gloves were still wet from the rain.
"Lillian, believe me, I want Caleb to be safe, too, but I have faith that he is with the Brotherhood."
"While fighting a war that could cost his life?" I shook my head. "No."
"It is his decision to make, Lillian."
"Spare me with his decisions, damn it!"
Connor winced back when I slapped his hands away and dug my fingers into my hair, my face hid behind my arms and my upper body bent forward. My breath kept leaving my lips in a hiss, every time I breathed in deeply. I wanted to calm myself, fearing another contraction. I couldn't get riled up, but that was easier said than done. I couldn't and didn't want to pretend that something that I was so reluctant about, was entirely fine with me. But the worst thing was that I knew my defiance was in vain. I had lost already when Caleb had made his decision. I couldn't have won this fight in the first place.
After my outburst, Connor sat as stiff as a poker, didn't say anything and made no move to touch me again. He probably felt that this was the last thing I wanted and needed right now. But even though I expected it, his voice didn't sound angry or cold. It sounded rather resigning.
"I guess we will never agree on this, will we not?"
I pulled away from my cramped position and slowly moved my hands back to my belly. I felt resigned, too. There was no point in arguing when we both knew that none of us would give up their opinion. It made me sad, especially when I realised that this was the first time, Connor and I couldn't come to an agreement, a compromise in an argument. Because there was none and never would be because this wasn't about the two of us.
"No."
Connor nodded. "So you will keep being angry with me and Caleb?"
"Yes."
Connor pinched his lips at my answer and lowered his eyes to his hand, folded in his lap. Carefully I reached out to him and softly touched his sleeve with my fingertips, making him look at me again. I hadn't finished, yet.
"But solely because I love both of you."
Four weeks later - The end of August 1787
The rain pattered quietly against the glass of the huge windows and ran down like waterfalls. The sound was incredibly soothing and I was already spending some time dreamily gazing outside. Sitting comfortably in an armchair, my legs propped up on a stool and a cup of warm tea between my hands. The rain cooled down the air noticeably. The temperatures were still summery but much more bearable than the weeks before and I especially enjoyed the cool breath of air coming through the open terrace doors and carrying the scent of rain. I was the only one watching the weather outside. With me in the big common room of the villa were several Assassins who had been chased inside by the rain and were now lounging on the many seats. Some were chatting while others had books on their laps and were discussing and philosophising about diverse topics. It was the first time that I experienced that Assassins weren't solely fighters, but also scholars. Some of them more, others less and although it was fascinating to let my attention roam from time to time and listen to some conversations, I was soon bored and focused on more trivial matters. Even though I would never admit it, I was no scholar, hadn't received a thorough scientific education and honestly didn't feel the need to acquire the knowledge of some century-old philosophers and scientists. During my time here, I had scrolled through some scientific works and had always found them interesting, but overall boring. I preferred literature meant for entertainment and unfortunately, the number of these books in this house was low. Obviously, Assassins didn't need to know about Shakespeare or the youthful works of an aspiring author like Goethe.
So my last few days on Great Inagua had been rather dull. As ordered by Brenda, I spent most of my time lying or sitting. Not only Connor was making sure that I only moved from the ship - where we spent our nights because of the bed - to the villa and back or to satisfy my very human needs. Nerea and Sabana hustled around me as well to make sure that I wanted for nothing. All this pampering was touching but eventually annoying and frustrating. I felt like a sick woman even though I soon was much better. The tea had worked against the contractions and even the nausea lessened with every week. I felt good, not even pregnant, although I liked to remind myself by lovingly caressing my little baby bump. It slowly began to show beneath my clothes even though it still needed the knowledge of my pregnancy or a sharp look from the side to notice it. But me and the people who needed to know knew that it was there. Except for Emily. Of course not.
I already wondered if, when and how you should explain to a two-year-old that she would soon have a sibling. She certainly wouldn't understand it, maybe even when I was close to giving birth. That she didn't know and of course didn't notice my bump made it often difficult to explain why I didn't play with her. Why she wasn't allowed to jump on me the way she loves to do because she often was so energetic that I had to endure hits or kicks against my belly. She noticed that something was different but it only caused her to frown and ask if I had belly aches again. I always negated this question because I didn't want her to worry about me.
Right now she was sitting in a corner of the room playing. At least she had been the last time I had checked on her. But when I looked at her I only saw her bottom, while the rest of her was stuck underneath a sofa.
"Emily, what are you doing? Please come out of there."
Emily began kicking her legs and crawled away from the sofa. I sighed when I saw the dust that was sticking on her dress while Emily gave me a joyful grin and ran to me. She reached out her hand, holding a dusty ball of paper.
"What is that?" I asked, put my cup aside and carefully pulled Emily into my lap as she tried climbing me and the armchair.
"Ball," she explained and pushed the paper into my hand after I had tried patting her clothes. The ball was entirely covered in dust, was yellowed and felt porous. It must have been lying under the sofa for quite some time. This made me curious, after I would have thought it to be rubbish and with Emily's permission, I carefully tried to unwrinkle it. Because of the condition the material was in, it wasn't easy and even though I tried to avoid it, the paper got torn on the edges and corners but finally, I made it and tilted my head as I regarded what Emily had found. It was a drawing, made of quick, rough lines and already a bit faded. It showed a woman, who looked serious and thoughtful into an unknown distance, her hair ruffled by the wind. An incredibly beautiful piece of art that also radiated a strange sense of sadness and longing and I wondered how and why it ended up scrumbled beneath the sofa.
Emily reached for the paper and carefully grabbed it to look at it with wide eyes.
"Do you like it?" I asked and smiled when Emily nodded. "Well, you found it. Shall we hang it in your room back home?"
She nodded again and left the drawing in my care while she already climbed off my lap again and dove head-on into her next adventure. Smirking I watched her return to her toys. My gaze fell on Connor, who had spent the day somewhere on the island and just came through the door. His coat was drenched and the water dripped off his hood as he brushed it off his head.
"What do you have there?" he asked me when he reached me and stopped beside the armchair. I just had wanted to fold the drawing again but now held it out to him so that he could look at it.
"Emily found it under the sofa and I wanted to hang it in her room back home."
Connor nodded slowly which I took as a sign to finally fold the drawing. I had to find a way to store it safely so that the paper didn't get any more damaged than it already was. Maybe I could put it into one of the logbooks on the Aquila for as long as we would be on the sea. It would probably be safer there than in any bag.
"I wanted to talk to you about that."
I raised my eyes and gave Connor a questioning look until I realized that he was referring to my mentioning of home. "Yes? So our departure is finally decided?"
Hope spread inside my chest. We had been here longer than I thought necessary for my condition. I was much better already and should I still need rest, I could have it at home, in our own bed or in our own armchairs.
"Not really."
The smile, that had been on my lips before, slipped away. "What do you mean?"
Connor's gaze wandered to his brothers and sisters whose voices still caused the most noise in the room. "Shouldn't we sit on the terrace?"
So he wanted to have a private conversation and according to his face, a serious one, too. Again I had a bad feeling but nodded nonetheless and thanked him when Connor grabbed my hand and helped me to my feet. My belly was still small, but getting up from a half-lying position was getting more difficult by the day.
Silently Connor and I stepped onto the terrace and sat at one of the empty tables. Although the terrace was roofed, the weather drew no one outside and that was good for us now. The voices from inside were muffled while the drumming of the rain was even louder. The drops hammered onto the wooden roof, gathered into small rivers and cascaded down the edge like waterfalls. The scenery would have been soothing if it wasn't for Connor's serious and thoughtful face. He watched the rain for a moment as well, after we both had made sure that Emily was still playing inside by a look through the big windows. Then he took a deep breath and looked at me.
"The natives warned me that the upcoming weeks before November are known as the season of storms," he began to explain. "The storms can get so strong that they cause whirlwinds and giant waves on the sea. It is too much of a risk, so we will not depart soon."
"So…" I hesitated and thought about what he just said. "You want to leave in November?"
"No." Connor shook his head and put his intertwined hands on the tabletop. "I want to leave when the child is born and you recovered from the birth."
I probably stared at him like a cow in a thunderstorm. I couldn't understand what he just said and subconsciously hoped he was joking. But Connor never joked in such matters. He joked quite rarely, which was one of the first things you learned about him. Sometimes he didn't tell you everything, but he was honest and this was one of these situations where I wished he was a joker.
"Are you crazy?" I uttered and leaned forward as if it could turn out that I misheard. "You're speaking of maybe half a year!"
"I know, but I am serious."
Yes, that's what I feared.
"I do not want to risk anything. Your pregnancy will be far along in November and the midwife is right. A ship is not the right place for a pregnant woman." He took a deep breath as if this had been hard to admit. To me, it was hard to realise what he just explained. He wanted to stay longer after he had spent almost a year here already and although Emily and I had been here longer than I had planned. On top of that, he expected me to give birth to our child here in this foreign place. Where we didn't even have a real roof over our heads and practically had only what we were wearing on our bodies.
"Lillian, I just do not want anything happening to you and the child," Connor said quietly when he noticed that he rendered me speechless. I wasn't sure what he could read on my face but there certainly weren't happiness and consent. As much as I understood his reasoning.
"But I want to give birth at home," I explained after putting my thoughts in order. "In our familiar house and with the help of Diana and Dr. White."
"I understand, but there are people here who can support you, too."
I cocked my head. With 'help' I hadn't meant someone to hold my hand, but someone who knew what to do to get me and my child through the birth. And on this island, there was no one I found capable enough.
"Do you mean that old man who stitches up your brothers and sisters?" I asked and shivered inwardly with the thought of this straw of a man. Whose sunken-in eyes and hollow cheeks make him look more dead than alive. Furthermore, he seemed more like a charlatan than a competent medic.
"He is a doctor," Connor said as if he had read my thoughts but I scoffed.
"I heard him recommending someone to snuff ground ape skull against a headache! You want someone like this to bring our child into this world?"
"Well…I admit he is more of a barber-surgeon." Connor ran his hand through his hair, seemingly uncomfortable. He knew that he was heading straight into a dead end and although I understood his concern and would have accepted it, under the right circumstances, this was an argument I couldn't and didn't want to yield in. This was about me. About the child under my heart and especially about both of our survival during birth. Connor didn't want something to happen to me on board, but the thought of giving birth was graver to me than some possible difficulties during our journey home. But it seemed like he didn't want to give up so easily.
"But what about Sabana? She is a mother and knows about giving birth."
"But that doesn't make her a midwife." I sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair, my hands folded on my belly. Even weeks later, our argument about Caleb and the fear for the baby was still troubling me. I didn't want this to end in yet another fight where we found no common ground, so I took a moment to rein in my growing frustration.
"Ratonhhaké:ton, I like Sabana, but I want someone by my side who has medical experience when needed. Like Diana. Furthermore, where am I supposed to give birth? In the small closet up in the guesthouse? On the Aquila, where your crew is sleeping below deck?"
No, the thought alone was horrible. I wanted to go home and suddenly I felt tears rising into my eyes. Why was everything so chaotic? Why couldn't it be the way I wanted it to be?
"Lillian, I do not want to take the risk," Connor repeated and frustrated me even more. His intentions weren't the problem.
"I understand. But I just want to go home and give birth there, where everything is familiar and where I feel comfortable." I spoke with more and more insistence and probably sounded like a defiant child who wanted to get their way. With the tears streaming down my face, I must look like one, too, but I was entirely serious about this. It was out of the question. We couldn't stay here any longer and I couldn't have the child here. The mere thought made me desperate and this desperation was so overwhelming that I started to cry. Sobbing I propped my elbows on the tabletop and covered my face with my hands while Connor didn't seem less overwhelmed by my outburst. I heard the scrapping of a chair on the floorboards when he stood up and kneeled beside me.
"Please, do not cry," he said softly, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other on my arm. "I want you to be fine, too."
I had never doubted that and would never do so. But we weren't talking about staying longer because I caught the flu. We were expecting our second child. A gift I had wished for so long and which I was looking forward to more than anything else in the world. In this case, I couldn't act against my feelings and especially my needs and make some compromise and it seemed like Connor finally realized that, too. The hand on my shoulder brushed over my head and under my chin to gently make me look at him. I did, with tear-stained eyes and sobbing and with a serious expression, he brushed a tear from my cheek.
"Will you allow me to ask around? Maybe we can find a way to make sure that you feel safe and comfortable and have someone by your side who can support you in giving birth."
I was tempted to shake my head. To say no and to insist on going home. But maybe this would finally be the action of a child. I didn't know what he had on his mind but I knew that he wasn't asking just to put the topic aside. He asked because he cared about my well-being and because he wanted to make sure that I wanted for nothing, like always. No matter how bad the initial situation may be. It was one of the things I loved about him and I was grateful for it, even if it could be frustrating from time to time. So I nodded.
AN: The drawing mentioned is an easter egg, refering to the fanfiction of a fellow writer on the German fanfiktion archive. She wrote an OC-romance about Black Flag and since I loved her story, I wanted to connect mine with hers. So there won't be a grand reveal or plot coming, centering the "mysterious drawing". :)