His smart little eyes, the same sky-blue as his father’s, fastened onto my face. His sweet little lips stopped their trembling. He was a small child, but perfect, from his pink ears to his even pinker toes, pure heavenly joy wrapped up in a bundle.

I fetched my tiny treasure into my arms, but by the time I reached the window to show him his papa, Theo had already disappeared around the corner. “He will be back soon, my love.” I rocked him on our way back to the kitchen. “We miss Victorine, don’t we?”

The running of even a small household such as ours was a challenge. The girl who helped several times a week had to go home to care for her mother. I had wished for little as fervently in my life as I wished her back.

“We shall manage lunch, regardless,” I promised Wil. “What will your uncle be like, do you think? He’s a great artist. Your papa named you after him.” I salted the meat, praying out loud. “Dear Heavenly Father, please end Vincent’s troubles.”

My little son uttered a serious “Ah” as if trying to say amen. He was so sweet, I kissed his rosy cheeks until he squirmed. “You are the most darling boy. And I am the happiest of mothers.”

I was not the greatest cook, however.

“Let us hope I shall not burn the rice today.” I stirred the pot again. “If lunch turns into a disaster, I might not have enough energy to attempt a replacement.” I had spent what strength I had on shopping at the market.

I hovered at the stove with the baby, who tangled his quick fingers in my hair, doing his best to make me look disreputable. “What do you think? Will your mama ever be more competent?”

I set the table for three, then stirred the pot again, then took a turn around the kitchen with Wil. He liked it best when we were moving. As soon as I dipped into a chair, he fussed.

“Shhh.” I rubbed his back. “Your uncle Vincent will be here soon.”

I hummed him an old church hymn. My eyes drifted closed. I caught myself.

“I won’t drop you. I wouldn’t.” I carried him back to his cradle, handing him his tin rattle. “You play with this. I must finish in the kitchen.”

As I straightened, blood gushed between my legs. I would have to change my pad before the men came, and burn the soiled one in the stove. I had been bleeding on and off in the past three and a half months since Wil’s birth, sometimes more, sometimes less. The doctor told me the affliction should have stopped by now, but it had not. Yet.