Anne bent over the toilet bowl, trembling hands slammed against the walls of the little two-foot bathroom. Her stomach churned, threatening that her guts were about to expel last night's dinner into the porcelain bowl. Chicken, beans, and rice; great meal to see the morning after. She swallowed, struggling to keep the contents of her guts where they belonged, but as it rushed up her throat, it was a losing battle. All she could do was lock her knees, open her mouth, close her eyes, and let her body do its worst.

It only took ten seconds, but in the cramped room, it might as well have been an hour. Her left arm gave out at the end, sending her to the floor. Lucky that she didn't bust her teeth on the bowl. Al would throw a fit. The slightest sign of blood would send him into a panic that only medicine could calm. Would it be even possible to calm him if his wife walked up with shattered teeth and a mouth full of blood? Wiping her mouth, she pulled the chain, washing away her returned dinner.

She gave herself a minute to relax. Couldn't stand up too fast. That was a good way to have an encore where only the stomach juices would show up. She winced at the thought. Clambering to her feet, she staggered to the sink, right outside the door, a little pedestal attached to the wall. Cold water cleaned off her lips and hands. The hot water hadn't worked in years; Al didn't have the cash to fix it. Too many expenses to cover everywhere else. "The entire sea's full of cold water," Al would say. "Hot water only makes it harder to get used to." Anyway, a pot on the stove got them enough warm water when it was really needed.

Beneath her feet, she felt a rocky jolt, interrupting the steady rocking she was accustomed to. A terrible bout of nausea overwhelmed her. Clutching the sink, which bowed down under her weight, she swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that inched up her throat. Despite its protesting, the stream of vomit slid back down into the stomach. Anne took a deep breath, releasing the sink, which remained at its down-turned angle. "Crap," she hissed through her clenched teeth.

Morning sickness got worse every day, especially over the last week. She stood barefoot in her little blue nightgown, which cut off at the knee. The night dress clung to her swelling belly, which was close to bursting through the taut fabric. She was sure it would be big enough to get her through the entire pregnancy, but as was the usual case, she was wrong. A month ago, she hoped Al wouldn't go back out to sea until little Austin was born. Til twelve days before, he kept that promise.

In her mind's eye, she could still see the furrowing creases in his forehead, making him a decade older than he was. If he lost a little more hair, he would be his father's twin. "What do you want me to do?" he lamented that terrible day, fingers running down his cheeks. "Defy orders? This is a business. If I don't do it, Archie will find someone else. Do you want me to leave my family destitute?" Tears welling up in his eyes, she had caressed him, pressing his face against her shoulder.

It was never easy, no matter what they did. Al's leaving was bad, but Anne joining him on the boat was worse. This was not a pleasure cruise. Al was captain of a fishing boat. It was hard work, sometimes even dangerous. Though captain, Al couldn't make the call if his wife could go with him or not. Archie owned the business, boats, captains, and every fisherman aboard. Nothing happened under his nose, and if he didn't approve, heads would roll. It took begging and paperwork to keep the couple together.

She couldn't go above deck without a chaperone; Archie's orders. Anne looked around her home away from home. Her dress laid on the chair while Al's workshirt laid on the floor. The chair was adjacent to a desk, stacked high with documents and charts that Al looked over every night. A small cabinet held what snacks it could. On a stand, an old television sat wedged in one corner behind the door. A stack of books rested on the bookshelf near the bed. This was all she had to get her through the day.

She wondered if they made the right choice. Would it have been better if she stayed home? Though she would be alone, at least she would be surrounded by the familiar. Back home, they had a plan. The baby room was ready. Plenty of formula and food waited for their bundle of joy. Their house was fifteen minutes away from the hospital. Mr. Daniels would look after the animals. Dr. Micah was a gentle, reassuring man. Under his supervision, they had nothing to worry about. All of that was gone now. None of their preparations meant a thing if they had a body of water between themselves and all their plans.

What scared her the most was that she had no idea when this baby would come or where she would be when it happened. The thought of having their child in this cramped room horrified her. It was enough to make her nausea overtake her again. Her trembling hand reached up for her face when a sudden snore burst into her eardrums, making her head whip toward a twin-sized bed, one that she almost fell out of on a daily basis. A mop of brown hair stuck out from under the blankets. With slow, quiet steps, she approached the hair, lifting back the sheets with a careful hand to reveal her husband.

He slept in his sailor's t-shirt and shorts, pink anchors on red fabric. Her choice for a gag present at the wedding. They were never going in the garbage. "As long as you're my wife," he said once. "I know they'll bring me all the luck in the world." With how he looked now, she knew he believed that. No matter how rocky the waves, he could sleep. As long as no one called him or made any loud noise, he would remain in a pleasant dream's embrace until it was time to awaken. A gentle smile rested on his face, making the hard creases of life vanish. His shoulders, which tried to carry the weight of the world when he stood, sagged in contentment. In spite of herself, she reached under the covers and lifted his hand to her cheek.

The hard calluses scrubbed against her skin, but, through them, his warmth surged through her face. It was just as vibrant as their wedding day. She sighed. It felt like an eternity ago. Once upon a time, they were children with stories of knights and princesses in their heads. Those daydreams drowned beneath the tides of years, bills, and tireless work that kept the couple's heads above water. They were no longer children and had to put away childish things. To survive, one needed something real.

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These tough hands got her through some difficult times. Putting down her cat. Grandma's Alzheimer's. The miscarriage. He held her hand every time, comforting her just as she did for him. Closing his parents' store. Those months he was bedridden. When his father died. They saw each other through all the lows of life. With a faint smile, she knew that this time would be no different.

Yes, it will, a foreign thought came.

A sudden darkness weighed on her as if an anvil dropped on her chest, just like in an old cartoon. "Here it comes again," she muttered. In the corners of the room, the shadows grew, smothering everything beneath its oppressive blanket. She trembled as it approached her. Fear gripped her heart tight, threatening to crush it in its palm. The dark surrounded her, floating around her as debris in a lake. At any moment, it would drown her and none of her worries would matter.

"Go away," she cried at the darkness. "Leave me alone."

Just as it had before, it halted by the grip of an invisible hand. The dark circled around her, salivating foam rising from its depths. Soon, the thought spoke again. Soon, you will see. That will be the day your very cries will die in your throat. At once, the darkness retreated back into their corners, sliding down the walls until they vanished into the faint shadows that birthed them. Was it all part of a dream? After three times, Anne was not sure.

She drew in a shaky breath, the only thing that proved she was alive. Burying her hands into her armpits, she struggled to steady her trembling. The horror of what she witnessed lingered, building to her growing apprehension. She tried turning her thoughts back to her daily life and worries, but this time, there was nothing she could do. Though the darkness had not drowned her, it somehow left its mark on her mind.

"What's wrong, darling?" a familiar voice asked. Her head snapped toward the bed to see Al's lazy blue eyes flashing at her, along with a grin. "What's with all the racket about? Can't a guy get some sleep?"

"Sorry," she muttered, the shadows haunting her.

He sat up, sheets slipping to his lap. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Of course," she lied, trying to make it as believable as possible. Doubt flashed in his eyes. No matter how hard she tried, it was hard to put anything past him. He rubbed his face, fingers running down his cheeks, as he did when he started a conversation he didn't want to have.

"Is there anything you need to tell me?" he asked.

"No," she lied again, glancing away from him. It hurt to speak to him so. Since the day they met, they told each other everything. To keep something from him felt wrong, but what was she supposed to say? Who would believe her? She read about how hysterical some women were during their pregnancy. Could this be one form of that hysteria?

A silence walled up between them. Al tapped a hole through it, his words struggling to reach her. "I know you got a lot on your mind, but don't worry. Everything's worked out this far. That's not going to stop now." His hand went back to her shoulders, fingers tightening, but she didn't face him. She couldn't. "Nothing's going to be perfect, but we're going to have this baby, and we're going to be great parents."

"How do you know?" she whirled around. Her hands went to her swelling belly, which held a lost child once upon a time.

In a strange twist, that self-confident grin vanished and his eyes dropped to the bed. "I don't," he replied. The silent wall was whole again. It wasn't often that they had nothing left to say. They were awkward moments that Anne wanted over as soon as possible. She tried to find the words to break through the wall, but there was nothing she could do. The darkness in her mind overwhelmed her, chasing any comforting words from her mind.

Al got out of bed and took a deep breath. "Listen," he said, cupping his ear. "The birds are calling for day to break." Climbing out of bed, he took her by the hands, pulling her toward the door. "Let's go watch the sunrise."

"No," she gasped, horrified. For a split moment, the darkness lost its hold. "I'm not ready." She eyed her dress on the chair. "What if someone sees us?"

"Let their jealous hides look as long as they want," he laughed. "When you're in my arms, no one else exists." Ending the discussion, he swept Anne off her feet, carrying her out of their room. She pulled a blanket off the bed, giggling in spite of herself. An inner light burst in her mind, and the shadows retreated. Her arms tightened around his neck. In his embrace, she couldn't feel the shakiness of the sea. It was as if she sat on dry land.

He brought her out to the deck. A clear, dark sky awaited them. Countless stars sparkled overhead. Anne tried to spot any constellation, but she couldn't even find the Big Dipper. The waters were gentle as the boat cruised along. A night breeze brushed against her bare legs. "Oh," she gasped as the air ran goosebumps across her skin.

"Cold?" he asked. She nodded. He set her on her feet. The shakiness returned, but as long as he was close, she was okay. He wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, holding her close as they walked across the deck. Few men were above deck and none of them paid attention to the couple, for which she was thankful. They walked in the bow's direction. "Want to play Titanic?" he whispered, eyeing the railing's end.

"No," she snapped back. The last thing she wanted was to balance on the rails and risk plummeting into the cold water. These thoughts made her aware of the shadows again. They weren't gone. The darkness still lingered at the edge of her inner light. She didn't understand why she couldn't shake it. Everything she saw had to be a dream, right?

Perhaps, the voice whispered from the abyss.

It was then that she knew. If that was not a dream, that shadow, and whatever caused it, was fast approaching. With a shudder, she knew that if it came, it would make all her worries seem like ashes in the wind. Nothing else in her life would matter. Who would comfort her in that despair?

With a thin smile, she knew the answer. The same man that had for the better part of a decade. Forcing herself to stop staring into the abyss, Anne turned to her husband, sliding her arms around his waist, intertwining her fingers. His warmth rushed up her arms. "I love you. Please, just let me hold you."

He returned her embrace. "Okay." They stood as two statues against the world. The waves sloshed against the boat. Seagulls cawed as they glided overhead. The dark sky took on a blueish hue in the distance. They were a picture, painted by a being outside mortal comprehension. What would this piece be called, The Calm Before the Storm?

It didn't matter. Anne seized this moment and held on for dear life. Out here, all of their daily worries were a world away, almost as if they were part of a fading nightmare. Even her dreams seemed to be made of smoke vanishing on a light breeze. Anne gazed into his eyes and all was right. They stood at the bow, holding each other tight as they waited for the sun to rise. They would not see the shimmering light of dawn. Perhaps the previous sunrise would be the last one they would see, because in the distance, between the foaming sea and the horizon, the fog rolled in.