This fog would pass. This mood would pass. The way she felt about - about it all, her life, her husband, her everything - would pass, too. All she was doing was overthinking, and that wouldn't help her at all.
Freddie had noticed something of it, or merely caught himself before he went any further (a rare moment of fortune, considering some of the other things she was well aware that he did, thoughtlessly, carelessly, entirely oblivious to her feelings), and crossed over to her. She hadn't expected this, to have a little warmth returned; and Sarah knew it wasn't what he intended, not in the least, but something in the way he responded jolted the guilt alight in her like a lightning strike as she leaned into him. "Of course you're not," she insisted against him - and he wasn't. He was right, as usual, and everything he had said had been fair, and... she was worried and fretful and tense for no good reason.
And Frederick, he was good to put up with her at all, the way she was. She should be better to him, she knew she should: maybe he would like her better, if only she could find a balance. If she wasn't resenting him and simultaneously being ashamed of resenting him so, then she was always trying too hard and clinging too tight. Smothering.
So it was her fault, then, if this embrace only made her feel worse. If all his moments of affection did, somehow. "I'm sorry, I'm fine, it'll be fine," she said, blinking rapidly to force herself to out of her anxieties and patting at him as if to persuade him of it. "It's me, I'm being silly. Here, I'll spoil the eggs." She waved him off, extracting herself with a faint laugh. Surely she could get through one morning, one day, one moment without being a total wreck about something ridiculous.
(Perhaps it was good she'd never been pregnant, really.)
Freddie had noticed something of it, or merely caught himself before he went any further (a rare moment of fortune, considering some of the other things she was well aware that he did, thoughtlessly, carelessly, entirely oblivious to her feelings), and crossed over to her. She hadn't expected this, to have a little warmth returned; and Sarah knew it wasn't what he intended, not in the least, but something in the way he responded jolted the guilt alight in her like a lightning strike as she leaned into him. "Of course you're not," she insisted against him - and he wasn't. He was right, as usual, and everything he had said had been fair, and... she was worried and fretful and tense for no good reason.
And Frederick, he was good to put up with her at all, the way she was. She should be better to him, she knew she should: maybe he would like her better, if only she could find a balance. If she wasn't resenting him and simultaneously being ashamed of resenting him so, then she was always trying too hard and clinging too tight. Smothering.
So it was her fault, then, if this embrace only made her feel worse. If all his moments of affection did, somehow. "I'm sorry, I'm fine, it'll be fine," she said, blinking rapidly to force herself to out of her anxieties and patting at him as if to persuade him of it. "It's me, I'm being silly. Here, I'll spoil the eggs." She waved him off, extracting herself with a faint laugh. Surely she could get through one morning, one day, one moment without being a total wreck about something ridiculous.
(Perhaps it was good she'd never been pregnant, really.)
