You wondered if Enola knew or had suspicions of the infants father. If she did, she didn't say anything and played the role of oblivious, naive, bride perfectly. In that room filled to the brim with the sick child's wailing, everyone was on edge. Lucille looked near ready to smother the little one in her arms. Eyes wide with all the sleepless nights she had ever since she gave birth to the abomination. There was clearly something wrong with it. She'd whirl on you countless times, screaming at you to 'fix it'. But what could you do? You didn't even know how to take care of a healthy child. Your thoughts often turned to the container of poison in the pantry. Perhaps it would be better to just put it out of it's misery instead of prolonging whatever ailed it. Just like what they were doing to Enola.
You glance at Thomas who looked even more shabby and worn down. He tried not to look at it whenever he could, but when Lucille thrust the child in his arms he had no choice. There was no fatherly gaze when he looked down at his child. Only fear.