Everyone told me Mary would be fine. Everyone told me the bleeding would stop. Everyone said he broke off. His hands were shaking. Six months of suppressed terror had found a crack and was pouring through.
Jonathan. Cara kept her voice low and steady. Look at me. He couldn't. His eyes were fixed on Emma on the slight flush across her cheeks on every breath as if counting them would keep them coming.
Cara gently moved him aside. Picked up Emma, who whimpered but didn't scream. Pressed her lips to the small forehead the oldest thermometer. "It's lowrade," she said. "Probably just working on a tooth.
We'll cool her down. Keep her comfortable. Watch her close. But she's strong. " "Jonathan, look at her. She's fighting.
I can't lose her, too. " The words escaped him like a confession. Like something shameful. He stood in the middle of the room. This man who had been holding his household together through sheer will and crumbled. I can't I'm not strong enough.
If she if something sit down. Cara shifted Emma to one arm and guided him to the rocking chair with the other. Sit. Breathe. Watch.
She worked quickly. Cool cloths for Emma's forehead. A lighter blanket, a few drops of sugar water to keep her drinking. The baby fussed but accepted the ministrations, eyes already drooping. Within an hour, the fever had broken.
Emma slept peacefully, skin cool, breathing even. Jonathan hadn't moved from the chair. He stared at his daughter like a man who'd seen a ghost depart. "She's fine," Cara said softly. "I told you she was strong.
You shouldn't have had to. I should have been able. Stop. She knelt in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. You've been doing this alone for 6 months.
No sleep, no help. No one to tell you it's going to be all right. Of course, you're afraid. Fear is the price of love. Something flickered in his expression, then shuddered away.
He stood abruptly, nearly knocking her backward. I need to check on the animals. Jonathan, thank you for your help. His voice had gone formal, distant, a door slamming shut. I can manage from here.
He pulled on his coat and disappeared into the storm. Leaving Cara kneeling on the floor with a sleeping baby and the cold realization that she'd seen something. He never meant to show her. The rest of the day passed in careful distance. Jonathan returned, stomped snow from his boots, and busied himself with tasks that kept him on the opposite side of the house when their paths crossed.
He was polite, courteous, remote. Carara recognized the walls. She'd built identical ones herself that evening. She sat by the window, watching the storm weaken. Gaps appeared in the clouds.
The snow fell lighter now, almost gentle. By morning, the roads might clear. She could leave. Maybe she should leave. Whatever fragile thing had been building between them, he'd made clear he wanted it torn down.