Work Text:
There are secrets Lisa keeps. Big secrets, little secrets, her heart is the place secrets go to rest. She knows which of her children broke the television (Isabelle). She knows where Ianto thinks the Christmas presents are safely hidden away even from her (in the crawl space under the house). Although her friends at work regularly want to know how things are at their odd home, Lisa never tells, just says with a smile, "You know. The usual," even though there is nothing usual about them.
She doesn't have many secrets from her husbands, not the first one to whom she promised everything, not the second with whom she is still negotiating, always redefining, never quite settled. She does have one secret, though.
The third month they were together, in the little rental, when everything was bright and new and so very fragile, Lisa had a secret. She was late, and she was frightened, because what if this was the one thing to destroy all the rest? What if this tipped her world over? Too soon in her second relationship to bring up a pregnancy, too close for her first relationship coming on the heels of the surprise that was their third child, and far too soon even to know whose it was, if that made the difference at all.
Two weeks became three, and she almost spoke up, and then it was either a bad cycle or an early miscarriage. She hadn't expected to cry. She didn't explain to anyone when she did.
She's never told them. There was no point then, and it's long past now. She had the operation soon after, and life has moved on since. Sometimes she thinks of mentioning it, when the night is long, when her heart is sad with other concerns, when she wonders why she's still here.
She holds her tongue. A woman needs some secrets of her own.