May, 1820

I am having a third child. I just know it. I smile when I tell my husband.

"Narcisse, sweetie, we're having another baby! Can you believe it? Our little daughters will have another sister or brother to play with." I kiss him on the cheek, but he pulls away.

He responds, "Really? God, Odette, you think we're running a baby factory in here? We've got enough mouths to feed, including the Lark. Do we really need another one?"

"No," I say, trying to look at the bright side of things. "Look, we can just cut back on the servant brat's rations. It's no problem. Besides, what's sweeter than a new baby in the house?"

He sneers. "Money in the house. This is all your faultŠ" he mutters and goes out the door. I stand there, alone and afraid. But, then again, he was never very happy when our other children were born so I shouldn't worry about him. Then again, he's never acted so unfeeling.

July, 1820

My stomach has grown bigger than it ever did with Azelma or Eponine. Maybe I'm growing fatter. Is it a boy? The kicks are hard. Or is it a very large girl? I don't know. Something tells me I may be having twins. I don't tell my husband because it would upset him more. This scares me.

Two kicks just now. From opposite ends of my womb. God, I do have twins.

October, 1820

"Narcisse, we're having twins."

He turns around. I say nothing. I only look into those cold, black eyes of his. I can see them flaming up. His face is getting hotter.

"You're what?"

"Instead of three children now, I'm going to have four."

"Jesus, Odette! Don't talk to me like I'm stupid! I can count."

"I'm sorry." I look down, acting ashamed. Usually he doesn't yell at me as much if I cower to him.

"As if this wasn't bad enough," he mutters. He doesn't look at me. I know I'm in trouble. "So.. what are we going to do?" He screams at me " We're going to starve to death and it's all because of you!"

"No!" I cry, cowering even more. "Please," I say. "Don't wake the girls."

"What? What? Wake the girls? Sure, I'll wake the girls! I'll tell them that because of their slut of a mother their father will have to give up everything just because of you! Damn it! How dare you! How dare you question my authority! When I've clothed you, given you a house, a home, and how do you repay me? By getting us thrown in the gutter because you had to get pregnant again! Damn it, Odette! How dare you!"

I lie on the floor, bawling. Usually, I don't cry in front of him. It only makes him angrier. But this time, I cry so hard that my body aches.

"Damn it! Damn it! Get the hell up, bitch!" He starts to kick my legs. My shins hurt. All I can think of is every word that he says stinging me. Stinging like a thousand bees in my chest. He knows the way to make me cry.

"Please! Please! Don't do this!" I beg.

"Why? So I can let a bunch of starving brats drive us into poverty?" The kicking from outside gets harder, faster. God, he's aiming towards my stomach! I try to hold my belly so he won't try to hurt my little unborns. He tries. I look near the bedroom door. I see two pairs of eyes glowing back at me. Eponine and Azelma. No. They can't see me like this. I mouth at them to go away, but they don't. They just sit, in awe and horror, watching their mother be beaten by their father.

I'm diverted to be hearing faint cries in the darkness. Cosette is out there. She'll be my escape.

"Narcisse, I need to get Cosette! She's crying again! The little brat." I pretend to care that she's quiet. I really don't. I just need to get away from that man. The man who impregnates me and beats me for it.

I walk out to the shed, where Cosette is spending the night with the dogs. I tell her to be quiet or I'll make her have something to cry about. She's only three, but Eponine doesn't wail like that brat. Eponine is such a good girl, if only she didn't have to see what goes on with her parents when she's supposed to be sleeping.

Hopefully, this is the first and last time. The beatings will stop.

November, 1820

They haven't stopped. They've only worsened. Now he punches me in my belly for no good reason. He'll punch me when I'm cooking dinner or cleaning up the house. Sometimes, he yells so loud that the neighbors hear. I have to protect my children, but I don't know how. I don't know how. Eponine's eyes are now filled with fear every time Narcisse is near her. I try to keep them away when he's hurting me.

I deny that his beatings are hurting the babies. There is no possible way. He only hits my belly once or twice. I know he just wants to show his authority. He means no harm. No man could hurt his own children. However, I'm starting to believe that one of the babies is stronger and hurting the weaker one. There's a fainter heartbeat in weaker baby and a faster one on stronger baby. Yes, that's how it is. I only hope weaker baby will survive. I'd die inside if I lost it. I have such hope in for that weaker baby.

I'm beginning to think the stronger baby's a boy and the weaker baby's a girl. He gains up on her and bam! takes all the nutrients I provide for them. Sometimes, I tell him not to do that. I lay awake at night, cuddling my stomach, telling him that he shouldn't do that to his sister. He doesn't listen. He's a bad baby.

Last night, I was bleeding a little. I was so scared, but I didn't know what to do. There wasn't a midwife around or anything. I screamed at my little boy for doing such things. Greedy boy, I told him. Don't be so greedy. You're hurting your sister. He still doesn't listen. I can't wait for him to get out. I hope he'll be better outside my womb. I hope he won't be a bad baby anymore.

December, 1820

He hasn't stopped. My bad baby doesn't listen to me. I beg and plead for him to stop. I cry so loud at night I choke on my tears. I just don't want him to hurt my little Helene anymore. Yes, I've already named her. Helene-Marie Thénardier. Doesn't that sound pretty? She's such a good girl.

But little bad baby boy doesn't have a name yet. He does even more stuff to her, just like Narcisse beats me, he beats her in my womb and I can't do anything to stop it. I just let it go on, even though I feel guilty because I can't stop it. It's out of my hands and that scares me. I can't control what he does to me and I can't control what the bad boy does to Helene. It makes me very angry, very sad.

My water breaks. It's unusually bloody. I make him call the midwife. He said he wouldn't help me.I beg him, but he won't. He leaves the house. So I get everything ready for the birth. I tell the Lark to get the midwife (I would never let my little girls go out in the cold). I get blankets and water on my own. When the midwife arrives, I tell Eponine to go with Azelma and the Lark out of the room. She quietly obeys, wide-eyed with wonder.

I'm in with the midwife. She tells me to push. I push as hard as I can. All I want to do is get them out. It's hard work. I cry a lot. The process is grueling. Long hours. The midwife finally says something is wrong. They aren't getting out the way they should be.

She wants me to have a Caesarean section. She says to me, "We're going to have to operate if we can save them."

They open my belly. They take the babies out. The first one looks awful. It's my little Helene, the baby girl I expected. She looks so pale. I ask what's wrong with her in gasps of breath. She tells me the girl is dead. A stillborn. I wail. I scream. They finally get the other baby out of me. Just like I expected, it's a boy. A bad baby boy. She calls him "miraculously healthy". I tell the midwife to keep the boy away from me. She wants me to hold and nurse him. That will never happen. He's the devil. The midwife tells me that it's amazing that the boy survived. I don't care. He killed her. That bastard killed my baby.

February, 1821

I buried Helene two months ago, but it feels like days. I remember putting flowers on her gravesite and crying long after the procession passed. I was crying after my family left and I was just a blubbering heap on the icy ground. It snows every day now. I don't want snow on her grave, so every day I go and brush it off. She deserved the best.

I named the bad boy Gavroche. Narcisse was suited with it, as was I. Eponine and Azelma think that he's cute, and Narcisse is cordial with him. I cannot love him. He killed his own sister. He doesn't deserve love. I try to feed him, but the experience is nauseating. I try to cuddle him, but what child needs cuddling when they've cuddled their own flesh and blood to death? Sometimes, I can't even look at the boy.

A part of me asks why I do this to my own son. I tell the part of me that he's not my son. A son who kills his mother's daughter is no son of mine. Sooner or later, that bad boy has got to go. He's going to wreck our family. As soon as he can walk, I'll kick him out of our house. I can't stand him. I can't stand boys now. If I ever have another boy, I'll kick him out just like I'll do Gavroche. From what I've learned, little boys are just naturally bad. They need to be kicked.

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