"Just…don’t get your hopes up. Alright. Don’t make me explain it."
"I have some left over from Tatiana."
"Good, good." He squeezed her hand lightly. "How, uh, far along are you?"
"I’m sorry I don’t seem enthusiastic."
"The emotions are..mixed. I understand."
"I know, I know."
"I am..not good at this," He sighed. Comforting was not his forte. "But I am here."
Natasha didn’t know what to do. That was the problem. She knew that she couldn’t give up this child. It was a privilege to have one, considering she was unable to bear children until about a year ago.
She looked away from him, and took a deep breath.
"I intend to have the child," she cleared her throat. "And I intend to raise the child."
She hated sounding so clinical, so methodical. Her tone didn’t have any emotion in it, but she felt like screaming. She wasn’t against children, but going through the same process again and feeling so vulnerable and weak—
She sat down.
"Natasha." He left the ironing board and moved to sit next to her, taking her hand quietly.
"You are not alone. Not this time."
There’s a mix of emotions that wash over Jonathan; emotions he has not felt ever in his lifetime.
"What do you intend to do?" He hesitated to ask.
”..I, uh, received a call from the doctor—”
"You do not sound relieved." He stopped ironing and looked at Natasha. "I’m assuming, then, that it was positive."