The Art of turning heart

28 |

Edward sighed, setting his fork down with a barely perceptible clink against the plate. "I cannot eat another bite," he murmured, his voice betraying his weariness.

I reached out, running my fingers gently through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through my hands. "That's quite alright," I whispered soothingly, "You've done well."

As I rose from my seat, a small ache tugged at my lower back, a reminder of the growing weight of our child. I placed my hand against the small of my back, steadying myself. Edward's eyes followed my movements, his expression shifting to one of guilt and sadness.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to face him, confusion knitting my brow. "Whatever for, Edward? What have you to apologize for?"

He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as they rested in his lap. "For abandoning you," he replied, his voice heavy with regret. "Here I am, confined to this bed most days, useless to you. I should be helping you through this, sharing in the burdens of this household, of preparing for our child. Yet, I leave everything to you... even when you need me the most."

My heart clenched at his words. I stepped closer, kneeling beside him so that we were face to face, my hand gently cupping his cheek. "Edward, you have not abandoned me. You are here, and that is what matters. I know this illness takes its toll, but you must not burden yourself with guilt over things beyond your control."

He shook his head weakly. "But you carry so much, Isabella... I should be strong for you, for our child. I hate that I'm not able to do more."

I leaned forward, placing a soft kiss upon his forehead. "You are strong, Edward, in ways that you do not see. Every day you fight, and every day you are with me, you give me strength. Do not for one moment think you've failed me."

He looked into my eyes, searching for the truth in my words, though I could see the doubt lingering behind his gaze. His lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came.

"I need you, Edward," I continued, my voice firm yet tender. "Not as a provider, or someone who lifts the heavy burdens—but as you are. You are my husband, the father of our child, and your presence alone means more to me than you will ever know."

He remained silent, his eyes softening but still touched with uncertainty. I could see that he wasn't entirely convinced, but for now, he held his tongue.

With a soft sigh, I stood again, my hand resting gently on my belly. "Rest now," I said, offering him a gentle smile. "We have time yet, and you will see... everything will be well."

As I moved away from his side, I couldn't help but feel the weight of his unsaid thoughts hanging in the air. Though I wished I could ease his mind entirely, I knew that some battles he would have to fight within himself.

I stood in the middle of the small nursery, staring down at the pieces of the cradle scattered across the floor. My hands trembled as I tried to follow the instructions, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to fit together. My breath came in shallow bursts, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. The frustration, the exhaustion, and the overwhelming tide of emotions felt like too much to bear.

Just as I dropped the wooden plank in defeat, clutching my swollen belly, the door creaked open and one of the maids, Abigail, rushed in. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw me sitting on the floor in tears. "Madam, what are you doing?" she exclaimed, hurrying to my side. "You're not supposed to be exerting yourself like this!"

I wiped at my cheeks, though more tears quickly followed. "I... I don't care, Abigail," I stammered through my sobs. "I just want to do something right for once. I thought I could manage this—it's just a cradle!"