Nianzu was looking at his creations, which he had done for his mother. Every art, every poem, and every delightful event he had recorded. His sorrow was incomprehensible.
Chuntao placed her hand on his shoulder and he looked up to meet her gaze. "I feel empty, Chun." His hands circled her waist and he rested his temple on her abdomen. Chuntao caressed his hair while crying.
"You should not be crying at this time. I am not a good husband either," he said when heard Chuntao's weeping. He pulled himself away and pulled out a chair for her. "Have a seat," he said. Chuntao settled on the chair. Nianzu wiped the tears from her cheeks and told her not to cry.
"How can I not?" She asked. Her eyes were red.
Nianzu wiped his face and held Chuntao's hands. "Chun, I don't want the life inside you getting affected by this. Whatever a mother feels, her child feels too. It's the first month, but you need to be careful," he said, forcing a smile on his lips.