The Art of turning heart

25 |

I walked through the bustling streets of London, my handbag clutched tightly in my hand as I made my way toward the doctor's office. The sound of horse hooves clattering against the cobblestones mingled with the distant hum of city life. A faint drizzle had begun to fall, casting a thin mist over the streets, though it did little to quiet the movement of the people around me.

As I entered the physician's office, I felt a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity. I had not felt well for some time, but I could not place my finger on what was wrong. The vomiting, the fatigue—it all seemed so peculiar, but I had dismissed it, assuming it was merely the strain of my troubles.

The room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. I sat on the wooden chair near the window, my gaze drawn to the grey sky outside, watching as the city of London moved at its usual pace. People rushed by with their umbrellas and hats, each caught up in their own lives. I wondered, briefly, how many of them carried their own burdens, their own untold sorrows.

My thoughts were interrupted when the doctor cleared his throat, pulling me from my reverie. I turned to face him, and the look on his face was unreadable. "Madam," he began cautiously, as though unsure of how to deliver the news, "I must inform you that you are with child."

The words seemed to hang in the air, suspended between us, as if time itself had paused. I blinked, struggling to process what he had just said. "With child?" I repeated, barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Indeed, madam. You are expecting. Approximately two months along, I should think."

I sat back, my breath catching in my throat. I had never expected such news—certainly not now, with everything that was happening. My heart raced, the gravity of it all sinking in. "But... how can this be? Are you certain?" My voice trembled slightly, a mixture of disbelief and awe.

"I am quite certain," the doctor assured me. "It is a blessing, madam, though I understand it may come as a surprise."

A blessing, indeed. But alongside that joy, a shadow of doubt crept in. Edward. My thoughts immediately went to him. How would he react? Would he live to see our child born? The happiness I felt was quickly clouded by uncertainty.

I stood from the chair, smoothing the front of my dress. "Thank you, Doctor," I managed, my mind still reeling. "I... I shall take my leave now."

He nodded kindly, and I left the office in a daze. As I stepped out onto the wet streets, a part of me felt an overwhelming sense of joy. A child—our child. But as quickly as the joy came, so too did the sorrow. Would Edward even be there to hold our child? To watch him or her grow?

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. For now, I would carry this happiness with me. But the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on my heart. Could I bear to bring a life into this world, knowing that Edward might not be there to share it with me? Would he live long enough to know the child we created together?

The rain began to fall more steadily, but I barely noticed it as I made my way home, my thoughts consumed by both joy and sorrow, each battling for control.

The soft chime of the bell rang out as I pushed open the door to the pâtisserie, the warm scent of sugar and fresh dough greeting me like an old friend. The air inside was sweet, filled with the delightful aroma of pastries and cakes, all meticulously crafted and arranged behind the glass counter. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to be comforted by the familiar surroundings.

"Good day, madam," the baker greeted me with a polite nod. His hands were dusted in flour, and he wore an apron streaked with the marks of his work. "What might I fetch for you today?"