Having that knowledge is hard, harder than Sybil has ever even tried to imagine. They've spoken of it, Henri and Sybil, what their futures bring. She knows of his death and has tried to imagine her own. But it's never been like this.

Sybil realises that she's crying, her cheeks wet and eyes aching. She rubs at them with the palm of her hand, not wanting to be sad on what was supposed to be a joyful morning.

"Henri's gone to get formula," she says suddenly, unable to put into words how difficult this all is. "We thought she'd need it."