The Italian regarded the brunette, considering what to say. Eventually she went with: ‘You have to understand that she has gone through a lot recently. It’s very hard to lose a baby, especially when you’ve wanted and fought so much for it.’

‘I know. I really do. Even though I wasn’t the one who had a natural abortion.’ Porter sighed, revisited memories of a certain press conference when Fae-what’s-her-name threw the miscarriage on her face. ‘I felt like I lost part of my soul.’

They hugged. Bette was taken aback by the offer of comfort, took it and rested her head on Mrs. Ferrer’s shoulder.

‘It must be awful. Did you know that I should have been an oldest sister instead of an only child?’ Marina asked.

‘No. You never told me about it.’

‘My mother was four months pregnant when she fell from the stairs. She was completely desolated for three months after the doctor said she’d lost the baby. I watched her pain and felt a small fraction of it myself. It was unbearable.’ She confessed as they pulled apart.

Bette gave a sad grin. She understood it, could relate to what the other had told her. ‘It’s also difficult for those around people who have miscarriage.’

‘It is.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘We feel the pain of our loved ones as well as for the life that was lost. Life is so precious, so fragile… and sometimes we waste it. That’s what I realized when my unborn sister died.’

‘We should appreciate being alive instead of complaining of silly things on every passing second. We should fight for the possibility of a future that was given to us.’

‘While mourning over the ones who had that future wiped away from their hands.’

They remained in silence, deep in thoughts. At last, Bette sighed and stoood up silenlty.

‘I’d better eat something and get to work myself.’ Porter mumbled, more than happy to drown her worries in the prospect of getting as busy as possible with even the most unnecessary tasks. ‘Is your husband still at home?’

Marina glanced briefly at her wristwatch before answering. ‘No, he goes out at six-thirty. The place is secure.’

They chuckled softly. Bette regarded the Italian with compassion as the other sprang to her feet in a lithe movement, felt her heart squeeze in sympathy. She looked at their friends, all in deep slumber, envied their momentaneous state of peace nad thoughtlessness. That restful, tempting limbo of sleep. Sometimes she wished she could slip into that place and stay there for as long as it was needed for the quilty conscience to stop worrying her back.