“No, Doctor. Since I first started it in March at age eleven, I haven’t missed a single time. Even when I was struck with fever or felt like I was dying of sorrow, it came faithfully every three days of the month. Besides, there’s no reason for it to stop. I’ve gained four pounds since my last visit with you.”

“Mrs. Dalton, I advise against holding onto hope because it’s safer to approach this with skepticism. I’m sorry to say this, but how devastating would the disappointment be if your expectations were shattered? The moment you become trapped in the prison of obsession, a living hell unfolds. Remember that every time hope is crushed, women struggling with infertility step closer to that prison. You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Dalton, so I trust you understand my meaning.”

“…Yes. You’re right, Doctor. I’ll try to let go of my expectations.”

Laura responded calmly, as if agreeing with the doctor’s words. Yet her fingertips, still tightly clutching her gloves, were pale with tension.

Doctor McKenzie grew uneasy.

‘This is the classic image of a woman wasting away due to infertility. Another pitiable woman in Yorkshire, it seems.’

He considered offering further consultation but shook his head and ended the visit. Having been a doctor for over thirty years, he knew well that just as he lacked the ability to see through organs, he also couldn’t extinguish the desperate longing for a child.

No matter how many thousands or tens of thousands of comforting words he offered, they were futile. A doctor diagnoses and heals the body, but whether to cling to or release hope was entirely up to the patient. The heart was a sacred domain no physician could invade.

As if to prove Doctor McKenzie’s insight, Laura continued to wring her gloves even after climbing into the carriage. Her eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity. If she were as immature as Olivia or as lively as Mrs. Starr, she might have leaned out the window and burst into song.

‘There might be a child in my womb. A child born of Ian and me!’

Laura’s eyes grew misty, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief.

‘Oh, Doctor McKenzie told me not to hope… but this is the baby I’ve anxiously awaited for so long!’

Since last spring, following Doctor McKenzie’s advice, Laura had tried to set aside thoughts of a child and focus on her life with Ian. As a result, their marriage had grown more passionate. Their love deepened, and their happiness expanded. Doctor McKenzie’s advice had been sound.

Yet the happiness of daily life couldn’t always shield her from occasional waves of anxiety.

Last summer, Mrs. Starr had given birth to a healthy daughter, the child she had so desperately wanted. Laura and her husband visited the parsonage with an armful of flowers to offer congratulations and attended the christening. Laura felt relieved that Mrs. Starr had safely delivered and rejoiced in her long-desired daughter. Her blessings for the Starr family were entirely sincere.

But the day she returned from the parsonage, Laura felt drained all afternoon. After the christening, she lost her appetite and skipped dinner.

The happiness that had come to Mrs. Starr reminded Laura of her own unfillable void. A married woman without a child. A woman who desperately longed for pregnancy but couldn’t conceive.

That wretched, lonely feeling.

The greatest pain in this matter was that, despite it being a shared issue between husband and wife, she couldn’t discuss it with Ian. Laura avoided talking about pregnancy with him to protect his heart.

The label of a man who couldn’t impregnate his wife would wound him deeply. If Ian knew how much she suffered over their childlessness, it would cast a shadow over his heart.

He would become painfully aware of the absence of love’s fruition in their home and might even feel self-loathing. With Ian already burdened by business troubles, it would be like placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders.

Laura didn’t want to cause her sensitive husband emotional pain. She wanted to bear the suffering herself and fill his heart with only joy.

‘If I’m truly pregnant, how overjoyed would Ian be?’

Like a sprout bursting forth on a warm February day, premature joy blossomed in Laura’s heart.

‘He adores his nephews so much, so he’d surely welcome his own child. He might even insist on naming the baby himself. Yes, let him choose the name. Calling a name he picked would make love well up in his heart.’

The carriage passed over the hill. As it moved through the orchard and entered the market, Mrs. Starr came to Laura’s mind.

‘Since her second child was born, I’ve avoided visiting the parsonage and tried not to hear news about her. I was an indifferent neighbor out of jealousy. Now, I feel I can genuinely celebrate her happiness. I should buy some nutritious food for her, as she’s surely struggling with childcare.’

Laura wandered the market, buying heaps of fresh meat and seasonal fruits before returning to the carriage. She spoke to the coachman who approached to take her purchases.

“Stop by the parsonage on the way back to the manor.”

The carriage arrived at the parsonage within an hour. Laura, accompanied by the coachman carrying the gifts, approached the door and knocked.

A stout maid from the parsonage shuffled out.

“Welcome, madam. What brings you here?”

“I’d like to leave some gifts. Is Mrs. Starr resting?”

“She’s napping. The newborn princess cried all night, so everyone in the household has turned into owls.”

“Oh, that must be exhausting. I’ll leave the gifts, then. These are seasonal fruits, so please share them with the family.”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll make sure to tell my mistress that Mrs. Dalton from Whitefield Hall brought these.”

Laura bid farewell and returned to the carriage.

The carriage headed toward Whitefield Hall. Sitting inside, Laura gazed out at the Whitefield scenery the entire way. Everything seemed more beautiful than usual. Each passing birch tree looked like a pure maiden in a white dress, dancing. Like a ten-year-old child, she waved at each tree.

Upon arriving at the manor, Laura carefully stepped down with the footrest, thanked the coachman, and headed toward the entrance.

“Laura!”

A voice called her from behind—her husband’s warm, familiar voice. Laura turned around. Ian, dressed in a khaki frock coat, was approaching. Judging by his direction, he had likely been strolling in the garden.

“Where have you been since early morning? You didn’t even eat breakfast.”

Ian grumbled, and understandably so. She had left only a note on her pillow saying, “I’ll be out for a bit,” and slipped away. At that hour, Ian had probably been picking flowers to decorate her study.

He continued his complaints as he approached.

“Couldn’t you have written a bit more about where you were going? Making me worry all morning—it’s not like you…”

His words stopped abruptly as Laura threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Ian blinked in surprise for about two seconds before wrapping his arms around her back. A passionate, breathtaking kiss followed.

After a while, they parted.

“Was that to shut me up because you didn’t want a lecture?”

Laura giggled and shook her head.

“Or did you do something naughty out there?”

“I don’t know any naughty things except what you’ve taught me.”

“What’s this, before noon? Trying to get dragged to the bedroom?”

“No way.”

Laura pecked the tip of his nose.

“Just a kiss.”

“You’re torturing me, Mrs. Dalton.”

They exchanged playful kisses on each other’s faces. It was only later that they remembered it was a busy time for the servants, and the manor entrance was the most visible spot for them to be seen.

After lunch, Ian held Laura’s hand and escorted her to her study. At the study door, he reluctantly toyed with her hand.

“I’ll be thinking of you all afternoon.”

“Me too. Every word I read will look like your eyes, nose, and mouth.”

Ian grinned as if he couldn’t be happier and caressed her cheek.

“See you at dinner.”

“See you at dinner.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

He reluctantly turned toward the stairs, looking back five or six times with a wistful expression, waving before finally disappearing.

Laura chuckled and opened the study door. As soon as she stepped inside, she noticed the vase he had decorated. Vibrant blue veronica flowers bloomed vividly among the greenery—a work of art combining aesthetic sense and care.

Her love for Ian swelled to the brim, overflowing in her heart. Laura approached the flowers, bent down, and inhaled their fragrance.

‘Darling. Ian. My love. I love you so much.’

The overwhelming happiness in her heart spread across her face in a gentle smile.

‘I can never repay your love. But soon, our child will be born. In a little while, I’ll make you an even happier husband. We’ll become an even stronger family than we are now…’

But then, Laura’s eyes, which had been closed in blissful reverie, slowly opened.

A familiar sensation stirred. A creeping dampness began deep inside her body. Her undergarments grew uncomfortably wet, and her inner thighs slowly dampened.

Laura straightened up slowly.

‘No, it can’t be.’

With a pale face, Laura ascended the stairs. She entered the bathroom attached to the dressing room and didn’t come out for a while.

About thirty minutes later, Laura emerged, having changed her clothes. The lively expression from earlier was gone, replaced by a coldly set face. She walked straight down the stairs and into the study.

The veronica flowers greeted her as before. She approached the vase and looked down at them.

‘Ian.’

Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Laura crouched before the round table holding the vase.

‘Oh, Ian.’

She covered her mouth and sobbed. A wretched sorrow surged like water bursting from a broken dam, sweeping her away.