She had no idea where they had gone.
She had a vague recollection that they had brought the children to her in the night and that she had fallen asleep. She could not remember too clearly, and she was afraid to ask. It did not matter. She would have them to herself when Walther took her home.
The wonderful day finally arrived. Anna left her hospital room in a wheelchair, even though she insisted she was strong enough to walk. She actually felt very weak, but she was so excited that nothing mattered except the fact that she was going to see her babies. Walther carried her into the house, and he started to take her upstairs to their bedroom.
“No, no!” she said. “Take me to the nursery.”
“You must rest now, darling. You’re not strong enough to—”
She did not listen to the rest of what he was saying. She slipped out of his arms and ran into the nursery.
The blinds were drawn and the room was dark and it took Anna’s eyes a moment to adjust. She was filled with such excitement that it made her dizzy. She was afraid she was going to faint.
Walther had come in behind her. He was talking to her, trying to explain something, but whatever it was was unimportant.
For there they were. They were both asleep in their cribs, and Anna moved toward them softly, so as not to disturb them, and stood there, staring down at them. They were the most beautiful children she had ever seen. Even now, she could see that the boy would have Walther’s handsome features and his thick blond hair. The girl was like an exquisite doll, with soft, golden hair and a small, triangular face.
Anna turned to Walther and said, her voice choked, “They’re beautiful. I—I’m so happy.”
“Come, Anna,” Walther whispered. He put his arms around Anna, and held her close, and there was a fierce hunger in him, and she began to feel a stirring within her. They had not made love for such a long time. Walther was right There would be plenty of time for the children later.
The boy she named Peter and the girl Birgitta. They were two beautiful miracles that she and Walther had made, and Anna would spend hour after hour in the nursery, playing with them, talking to them. Even though they could not understand her yet, she knew they could feel her love. Sometimes, in the middle of play, she would turn and Walther would be standing in the doorway, home from the office, and Anna would realize that somehow the whole day had slipped by.
“Come and join us,” she would say. “We’re playing a game.”
“Have you fixed dinner yet?” Walther would ask, and she would suddenly feel guilty. She would resolve to pay more attention to Walther, and less to the children, but the next day the same thing would happen. The twins were like an irresistible magnet that drew her to them. Anna still loved Walther very much, and she tried to assuage her guilt by telling herself that the children were a part of him. Every night, as soon as Walther was asleep, Anna would slip out of bed and creep into the nursery, and sit and stare at the children until dawn started filtering into the room. Then she would turn and hurry back to bed before Walther awoke.
Once, in the middle of the night, Walther walked into the nursery and caught her. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he said.
“Nothing, darling. I was just—”
“Go back to bed!”
He had never spoken to her like that before.
At breakfast Walther said, “I think we should take a vacation. It will be good for us to get away.” “But, Walther, the children are too young to travel.”
“I’m talking about the two of us.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t leave them.” He took her hand and said, “I want you to forget about the children.”
“Forget about the children?” There was shock in her voice.
He looked into her eyes and said, “Anna, remember how wonderful it was between us before you were pregnant? What good times we had? How much joy it was to be together, just the two of us, with no one else around to interfere?”