justprompts - Love never dies a natural death. It dies...
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. -Anais Nin
By eight and a half months into the creation of Joanna (everything proceeding to normal, feeling about ready to pop) she knew it was coming, knew it was her own damn fault, and still couldn't think of thing one to do about it.
The baby, loved though she would be, though she already was, had been something of a last ditch effort coupled with an accident for them, if Len wanted to think about it. She didn't, of course, would rather have a nice, forbidden, stiff drink on the bad days, but was behaving herself. Behaving, not overworking (at least not as much as she had the first time through), spending as much time asleep as was best recommended, and everything.
But the man was already as good as gone, even if his bags weren't packed yet. They'd grown distant, and now he was even distant when they fought, which had never been the case before. Their love life was nonexistant, too, which certainly hadn't been a problem when Barbara was on the way.
Two months after Joanna was born (Barbara starting kindergarten, complaints from the daycare about Jo being loud, if sweet) and Leonore came back from picking up the girls after work to find a silent house, half empty closet, and a recorded message waiting for her. She'd played it while Jo napped and Barbara played in another room, and she couldn't blame him.
Fool man, left her for the woman he'd left for her, and well, she'd hardly been an ideal wife to Jocelyn, hardly spent the time and effort on him that ol' Joss needed to flourish, that he'd deserved. In all honesty, it had been a good four, five weeks since anything but tense silence and sharp words had ruled between them, and that had been a brief, joyful, baby-born respite.
Damn him, though, because she loved him. Needed him, and not just for the girls, but suddenly it felt like she needed him even for breathing.
Four months later (Barb's almost stopped crying at night, Jo's babbling at high speed) he was back. By then, she'd had time to get over the shock, and at least shove away the following depression into a corner. She'd had time to get mad; at him, at herself, at his new/old girlfriend, at the fact that old med school loans and diaper bills now kept her working late and long hours, and that damnit, his over-priced lawyers (better than any she was willing to afford) were probably right about Joss and Siena providing a better, more stable and available home environment for Barbara and Joanna to grow up in.
A little over a year later (first grade, getting 'help' with everything), when it's all settled and signed, most of what she once owned sold, when she'd kissed them goodbye and gotten drunk enough to step foot on a shuttle to San Francisco and Starfleet Aademy, it still felt like he'd yanked the planet out from under her feet. At least she still had her anger over that.
By eight and a half months into the creation of Joanna (everything proceeding to normal, feeling about ready to pop) she knew it was coming, knew it was her own damn fault, and still couldn't think of thing one to do about it.
The baby, loved though she would be, though she already was, had been something of a last ditch effort coupled with an accident for them, if Len wanted to think about it. She didn't, of course, would rather have a nice, forbidden, stiff drink on the bad days, but was behaving herself. Behaving, not overworking (at least not as much as she had the first time through), spending as much time asleep as was best recommended, and everything.
But the man was already as good as gone, even if his bags weren't packed yet. They'd grown distant, and now he was even distant when they fought, which had never been the case before. Their love life was nonexistant, too, which certainly hadn't been a problem when Barbara was on the way.
Two months after Joanna was born (Barbara starting kindergarten, complaints from the daycare about Jo being loud, if sweet) and Leonore came back from picking up the girls after work to find a silent house, half empty closet, and a recorded message waiting for her. She'd played it while Jo napped and Barbara played in another room, and she couldn't blame him.
Fool man, left her for the woman he'd left for her, and well, she'd hardly been an ideal wife to Jocelyn, hardly spent the time and effort on him that ol' Joss needed to flourish, that he'd deserved. In all honesty, it had been a good four, five weeks since anything but tense silence and sharp words had ruled between them, and that had been a brief, joyful, baby-born respite.
Damn him, though, because she loved him. Needed him, and not just for the girls, but suddenly it felt like she needed him even for breathing.
Four months later (Barb's almost stopped crying at night, Jo's babbling at high speed) he was back. By then, she'd had time to get over the shock, and at least shove away the following depression into a corner. She'd had time to get mad; at him, at herself, at his new/old girlfriend, at the fact that old med school loans and diaper bills now kept her working late and long hours, and that damnit, his over-priced lawyers (better than any she was willing to afford) were probably right about Joss and Siena providing a better, more stable and available home environment for Barbara and Joanna to grow up in.
A little over a year later (first grade, getting 'help' with everything), when it's all settled and signed, most of what she once owned sold, when she'd kissed them goodbye and gotten drunk enough to step foot on a shuttle to San Francisco and Starfleet Aademy, it still felt like he'd yanked the planet out from under her feet. At least she still had her anger over that.