02-16-2019, 02:57 PM
She has been a mother enough times to recognize when life begins to grow inside her again. But this time the realization is followed by entirely new feelings, entirely unfamiliar worry. Before, all her children had been with the man she had loved so wholly, a man who had at one time loved her back. Their children had been planned, wanted, part of their family together.
But this had been from something different.
Something beautiful, but so less certain.
She is struck, not for the first time in her life, at this tangle of uncertainty weighed so heavily in her chest. At one time she would’ve felt joy at such a discovery, would have followed those feelings to the man who had lain with her, whispered this wonderful secret into the curve of his ear. But this man, this would be father, is still so much a stranger to her, even despite his willingness to unfold his heart to her. There are so many things she doesn’t know about him, so many aspects she fears she would never fully be able to understand. He has the wisdom of more time than she can fathom, more experiences than she will ever know in her short life.
There is a large part of her heart that wonders how someone like her could ever be enough for a soul like his. An even darker part that forces her to relive the infidelity of her husband before him, of how even he who had loved her so well had grown weary of the family they built together. Weary of her. It is a wound in her soul that runs as deep as anything inside her, a brokenness that makes her forever unsteady on her own feet.
It is because she knows her own heart well, knows the beauty and the brokenness. Knows that she is incapable of having this child with this man and not discovering feelings again that have the power to hurt her. She had tried once, to love a man who chose to love more than just her, to father children besides theirs. Had tried because what she felt for him in her heart had demanded it of her, even as it had ruined her. She would not do that again, though. There was not enough left inside her to sustain such a thing.
She closes her eyes, feels the child shift within the slender fullness of her dark belly. Has even felt the feather of a touch against her mind, a soft pressure so gentle it makes her wonder if this child will be like her. She could raise the babe on her own, not allow it to interfere with Magnus’ busy life. But he has become enough of a companion, of a friend to her in these many months that she knows without doubt he would not want her to keep this from him. There is no decision to make here.
Still, there is much worry coiled in her chest as she turns and makes her way to their favorite place on the cliff side, a spot that overlooks the ocean and the sun as sets in a world turned temporarily orange and pink. He is there waiting for her as he often is, and she is glad to find his mind is quite this evening. No turmoil, no distress, nothing to delay the words she still has no idea how to share with him.
She climbs the stony path to the natural rock landing, coming to stand quietly by his side with a familiar kiss she presses into the curve of a golden shoulder. She is quiet for a beat, wordless for a few more, and then she shifts again, her dark and white face a mask of quiet as she takes a tangle of his mane between her lips and guides his nose to the heaviest curve of her belly, to a place where it is easy to feel when their child kicks from within the womb. She releases his mane, lays those dark beautiful eyes against his so searchingly despite that she’ll know anything he thinks in just a second. “We’re going to be parents.” So, so soft.
But this had been from something different.
Something beautiful, but so less certain.
She is struck, not for the first time in her life, at this tangle of uncertainty weighed so heavily in her chest. At one time she would’ve felt joy at such a discovery, would have followed those feelings to the man who had lain with her, whispered this wonderful secret into the curve of his ear. But this man, this would be father, is still so much a stranger to her, even despite his willingness to unfold his heart to her. There are so many things she doesn’t know about him, so many aspects she fears she would never fully be able to understand. He has the wisdom of more time than she can fathom, more experiences than she will ever know in her short life.
There is a large part of her heart that wonders how someone like her could ever be enough for a soul like his. An even darker part that forces her to relive the infidelity of her husband before him, of how even he who had loved her so well had grown weary of the family they built together. Weary of her. It is a wound in her soul that runs as deep as anything inside her, a brokenness that makes her forever unsteady on her own feet.
It is because she knows her own heart well, knows the beauty and the brokenness. Knows that she is incapable of having this child with this man and not discovering feelings again that have the power to hurt her. She had tried once, to love a man who chose to love more than just her, to father children besides theirs. Had tried because what she felt for him in her heart had demanded it of her, even as it had ruined her. She would not do that again, though. There was not enough left inside her to sustain such a thing.
She closes her eyes, feels the child shift within the slender fullness of her dark belly. Has even felt the feather of a touch against her mind, a soft pressure so gentle it makes her wonder if this child will be like her. She could raise the babe on her own, not allow it to interfere with Magnus’ busy life. But he has become enough of a companion, of a friend to her in these many months that she knows without doubt he would not want her to keep this from him. There is no decision to make here.
Still, there is much worry coiled in her chest as she turns and makes her way to their favorite place on the cliff side, a spot that overlooks the ocean and the sun as sets in a world turned temporarily orange and pink. He is there waiting for her as he often is, and she is glad to find his mind is quite this evening. No turmoil, no distress, nothing to delay the words she still has no idea how to share with him.
She climbs the stony path to the natural rock landing, coming to stand quietly by his side with a familiar kiss she presses into the curve of a golden shoulder. She is quiet for a beat, wordless for a few more, and then she shifts again, her dark and white face a mask of quiet as she takes a tangle of his mane between her lips and guides his nose to the heaviest curve of her belly, to a place where it is easy to feel when their child kicks from within the womb. She releases his mane, lays those dark beautiful eyes against his so searchingly despite that she’ll know anything he thinks in just a second. “We’re going to be parents.” So, so soft.