It was getting dark. They stood in the kitchen near the dining table, hugging each other and crying. Lars, though he tried to be strong and firm, could not cope with the realisation that his wife would soon be gone. And Inessa, who had been living the dream of having a child, began to realise that she might lose it and never see her husband, whom she loved so much. For a moment she imagined in her mind that the woman would die agonisingly from the intolerable pain caused by the incurable disease, and she became even more frightened than she had been before.
It's February 741. The month of labour. Inessa had already been placed in a ward under constant observation because she was due to give birth any day now. Lars was constantly torn between business and the hospital. He was rushing to his beloved to see her during visiting hours and to support her. On the day of the birth, Lars closed the restaurant and waited nervously outside the delivery room, biting his fingers and nails with excitement. Finally, the obstetrician who was delivering the baby came out of the door. He was holding an infant in his arms. Lars rushed over to him.
The obstetrician: ‘Congratulations on your son, Mr Davel! You are now officially a daddy. Your wife, said to give him the name ‘Theodore’, do you consent to that?’
Lars glanced at the baby. He had already been washed, but there were still small traces of blood on him. He was crying and twitching. The baby's father quickly turned his gaze to the obstetrician, not reacting to his congratulatory words.
Lars: ‘How is my wife? Is she healthy? When can I see her?’
Obstetrician: ‘That will have to wait a little longer. Her condition is assessed as critical. After giving birth, her condition has deteriorated significantly.’
Lars (nervously): ‘how long do I have to wait?’
Obstetrician: ‘Have patience, Mr Davel. Our doctors are doing everything they can to stabilise her condition. You still haven't given us an answer as to the boy's name. Would you agree to us putting him down as Theodore Davel in the city's registration system?’
Lars: ‘Write him down however you want…’
Lars clutched his head and started pacing from side to side. In his head he was cursing the doctor, the labour, the baby and the whole situation. The obstetrician at first wanted to pass him by, but then turned to the man and said, ‘Then I'll put him down as “Theodore” at the mother's request. We'll get the paperwork done quickly enough so you can have the baby in an hour… and Mr Davel, I know you're going through a very difficult time, but don't blame it on the baby. It is not at all to blame for what is happening to its mother.’