Beatrice moved closer to him. Genevieve heard fabric shift.
Then her sister whispered, “And now?”
Arthur’s answer destroyed what remained of Genevieve’s heart.
“Now I look at her and see someone tired. Heavy. Always worried.
I feel responsibility, nothing more.” Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut.
Heavy. She was heavy because she carried his child.
Tired because the pregnancy had been difficult.
Worried because Arthur had spent months becoming colder
while she desperately wondered what she had done wrong.
Beatrice gave a pleased little hum.
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