HIGHLIGHT

He came home with a glint of excitement, hope, and something else I had not seen in a long time, but the last one frightened me.
"How was your day, dear? Bring any chickens home for the Turtles? Shelly was wondering what time we would be over tomorrow so she can tell her boys when to be in."
"Oh," he stammered as he paced past me, past his treasured ocarina that I seldom heard anymore, past his paintings of me, and past drawing he had done several years back of our growing family that would never come to be. He began searching the room. Still lost in thought he muttered, "I won't be able to go tomorrow. Let Shelly and Forest know that I'm sorry. But--"
"You forgot."
"I didn't forget."
"You forgot."
"No, Prim, I didn't," he said as if it was one word.
"Clearly."
He never met my gaze but continued looking through the bookshelves my father had built my mother when they were young.
"Would you look at me?"
He continued rummaging.
"Rumpelstiltskin," his eyes met mine, "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to get you a baby," he said dryly as he began rummaging faster.
"A what?"
"A baby," stopping again, he said, "I can get you one."
"No, dear. Enough. I am tired of going to the witches and fairies. They have been so kind to us, but there is only so much their magic can do," I could feel my heart tightening, "There is only so much I can bear."

Those were the last things I said to him that night. After dinner he did not come to bed but nuzzled his crooked nose into his studies. At dawn, I arose to hear his hands scuttling through the pantry shelves. He never woke up this early.
I climbed out of bed and watched him gather his things unnoticed. As he made his way to the door, I muttered, "Remmy, do not lose yourself."
Leaving the door ajar, he walked over to me, and kissing my forehead, he smiled and left.
I began to clean the mess he had left behind from the night before, and I stubbed my toe on an old book I had never seen before. The leather was cracked, and the pages could have shattered at the touch of a dragonfly. Propped open against a cobbled wall, the book lay open on a page entitled Impermanent Alchemy. As I lifted myself from the ground, I stared into the eyes of the child he had drawn and wondered if she was what I truly wanted.