"I think so," Freya answered helplessly, quietly, her gaze fixated on the bright lights filtering through the windows. "It never happened with him." Oh, how she wished it had. Then, all her guilt and frustration would be for naught. Then, it wouldn't matter if she had dallied outside of her marriage for the sound possibilty of it being her husband's child existed.

She turned her voice quieter, her fear of discovery larger than her need for him to hear her. "You never wrote." Neither had she, but she hadn't known what to say.