Two days after being freed from Lord Dare's dank dungeon, Frank woke up to the sound of his wife weeping. He immediately stood up and searched for the source of the noise. She wasn't in the bedroom or the kitchen. Frank went out to check the mill and on the way, he spotted Hazel curled up like a ball a few feet from the door; a bucket lay at her feet.

    Frank kneeled down beside her. As she sobbed, Hazel rocked back and forth, oblivious to her husband's presence. "Hazel," Frank said as softly as he could.

      Eventually, Hazel noticed him and her eyes flew open. They were made red by tears that flowed down her face like streamed of sorrow. "What's upsetting you?" Frank asked.

       He'd seen her sad before — the quietness, the resignation that this just was how the world was. This was something else. Lord Dare had a tapestry depicting the aftermath of the fall of Troy in his throne room and Hazel's face was a perfect picture of despair — a double Andromache.

     Her lips were chapped and bleeding as if she'd bitten down on them — or perhaps she'd simply neglected to care for herself? The purple rings under her eyes were more prominent than a few days ago and there was a stiffness in her posture — as if she was being buried alive by her cares. "Let's get you inside," Frank said. "I'll carry the bucket."

     In the end, he had to guide her inside. She trembled — was it from his touch or her sorrow? — and he steered her to a wooden chair where she could rest. He returned to get the bucket and poured the water into the cauldron. "I can make breakfast today," he announced.

    He wasn't sure if Hazel heard him. She was very still and if her chest wasn't continuing to rise and fall, he'd swear she'd been transformed into a statue. Breakfast can wait, Frank decided, and he sat down beside his wife. "Hazel, what's going on?" he asked in his gentlest voice.

It took Hazel several moments to quiet her sobs enough to speak. "It's all my fault," she finally said.

"Hazel, I already told you it's not," Frank said. "It's Octavian's fault."

Hazel stared at Frank as if he'd announced he'd had an apocalyptic vision. "It's clearly his fault," Frank continued. "He was the one who blackmailed and framed me."

Hazel shook her head. "That's not what I'm speaking of."

Frank stared at his wife. He was still getting used to the luxury of freedom. What new sadness had entered their house? "What is it?" Frank asked. "You can tell me."

Hazel looked away. "The baby," she said, her voice as dull as a clod.

Frank hit his tongue to stop himself from crying. He felt his heart lurching forward, as if it was a moment away from falling off a cliff. He placed a hand on Hazel's shoulder to reassure her, but when she looked over at him, her golden eyes were round with mistrust. She thinks I'm going to hurt her, Frank realized, what happened to her to make her think that? "Hazel, it's not your fault," he said firmly.

Hazel's expression didn't waver. "I'm sad that this has happened and I will mourn alongside you," Frank said, "but I would never blame you for this."

Hazel began to weep softly. "Why else would God do this to me? I must have sinned or erred somehow!"

       "No!" Frank said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "You are a good person. I refuse to believe otherwise."

    Hazel stared at him, something between fascination and fear flitting over her features. "You are a good person," Frank repeated — this time gently. "I have seen the way you act. I have seen how dutiful of a daughter you are, how kind of a sister, how sweet of a wife."

        Hazel's golden eyes were shining like the sun. Frank cupped her face with his hands and kissed her forehead. "You are dear to me. You even get along with my grandmother — that's proof you're a saint."

      "I heard that!" Grandma Zhang yelled from the other room.

     "Whoops," Frank mouthed.

     Hazel tried to laugh, but hiccuped instead. Frank gazed at his wife's tear-stained face and wished he could say the words he wanted to. He wished he could tell her that there would be no more sorrows — that nothing like this would happen again, but he couldn't lie to her. They both knew that miscarriages could happen to anyone.

Lady Dare — despite having a whole entourage of ladies-in-waiting and access to the best midwives in France — had miscarried five successive times. Only after six months of praying on her knees did her sixth pregnancy come to term and that had given her a girl. Perhaps that was why Rachel felt a calling as a nun.

In all probability, this would not be the last great grief Hazel would bear. She might miscarry again or produce a stillborn child or perhaps lose a living one. The thought of her going through that cleaved Frank's heart into two. She had already lost her mother and half-sister.

Frank took Hazel's hands in his own and kissed her knuckles. She watched him through tear-stained curtains like a prisoner scared to venture out of their cell. "Your worth is not determined by your ability to bear children," Frank said.

Hazel stared at her husband. "But isn't that why you married me: to bear children?"

Frank shook his head. "If we have any kids, I will love them, but I married you for you. I love the way you care for other people. I love your quiet strength. I love waking up in the morning and knowing there is someone willing to share their life with me."

Hazel's eyes grew round and she hugged him. "Frank, I love you. I'm sorry for sharing my pain with you."

Frank held her gently in his arms. "Mon chou, that is the point of love. I wouldn't have it any other way."