I stood at the edge of the well, looking at my reflection. My hands came to my stomach, and with tears rolling down my face, I held my hands to its flat surface.

Two years we had been married. Two years we had been with each other. Two years we had been a tiny family of just two.

I should have conceived long ago. I should have a baby in my arms now. I should be looking into the dark green eyes of my son or daughter.

But I was empty.

Another sob ripped from my throat. I turned away from the well. I couldn’t stand to look at myself any longer. I couldn’t stand the disappointment I felt for myself.

We had spoken very little about it. Cyrus always reassured me that when the time was right, it would happen. He was happy just to have this time with me, just the two of us.

He meant it. I know he did. He was happy with our life.

But an ache had long begun in me.

A hollowness.

I needed more.

But maybe it wasn’t in the stars.

Maybe it was my punishment for turning my back on my family. I’d found so much happiness with Cyrus. Surely I couldn’t get everything I wanted and have children as well.

I stepped into Cyrus’ shop, ready to help with whatever he needed me to do. I needed to forget myself.

He was just seeing a patient out the door. He coughed quietly as the woman hobbled out. He waved to her with a smile and closed the door behind her.

He turned, and coughed again, three times.

“Cyrus,” I said, my brows furrowing. I stepped forward when I saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, his upper lip. I placed a hand on the side of his face. “You’re burning up.”

He coughed again, bracing a hand on his workbench. “Just a minor illness,” he said, trying to brush me off. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

My eyes narrowed and I moved my hand to the back of his neck. It was just as hot. “You started coughing last night,” I say. “Stay here, let me make you some tea.”

He coughed again as I walked to the fire to boil the water. “Thank you, my love.”

---

Two days later, Cyrus could not rise from our bed.

He was sweating profusely. His body trembled as if he were freezing to death. He could not hold down any food or water.

Soon, he was delirious.

I’d watched Cyrus work for two years now. I had picked up on many of his simple practices. So I tried everything I’d seen him do.

But nothing broke the fever.

“Sevan,” he called out in the night. I’d been getting more water to try and cool him down, but darted to his side instantly.

I dropped to my knees beside him, taking his hand into mine and holding it to my chest. Tears welled in my eyes. His breathing was so ragged and labored. “I’m here.”

“Sevan,” he said again, his words slurred. “I don’t think…” he struggled to speak. “I think this might be the same illness that took my parents.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said as a few tears broke free. But I forced my voice to be even. “No, it isn’t. They tried to cure it with magic and earth. You know what you’re doing. You know the science. The fever will break come morning, and you’re going to be fine.”

It terrified me when his eyes cleared for just a little while and they focused, meeting my own. Weakly, he raised his hand to the side of my face, caressing it.

“I promised to take care of you for the rest of my life,” he said, his voice so regretful. “I keep my promises, my love. But I don’t know if the universe is going to cooperate.”

I placed a hand over his, shaking my head. “You’re going to be fine.” My lower lip trembled as his breathing grew more ragged. “You’re going to keep that promise. Because I love you too much for you to leave me here.”

He seemed to gain a little more strength, just for a moment. “I love you, too,” he breathed. “My forever heart.”

His strength gave out, his arm dropping into my lap.

“Cyrus,” I said as his eyes slid closed. They didn’t open. “Cyrus,” I cried.

His chest continued to rise and fall.

But his breathing sounded so terrible.

I clutched his hand to my chest, rocking back and forth, tears cascading down my face.

I offered up a prayer to whoever would hear me. Loud. Shrill. Terrified.

I begged for my husband’s life.

---

For two days, I thought he would die.

His breathing would stop.

His skin was so hot I could barely stand to touch him.

He never opened his eyes.

He never responded to me calling his name.

But finally, I touched his arm, and his skin did not burn.

Finally, the sweat diminished.

Finally, he gripped my hand.

Finally, he opened his eyes.

“My forever heart,” he said as I gathered him into my arms, holding him to me as I wept tears of gratitude.