Author's note: Here's the second chapter, finally! Thanks for all the reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is presented in this story, only my own imagination.

Chapter 3 – Love is dead

7th January 1538

Jane caressed the fair, silky soft hair on her daughter's head. She kissed the smooth cheeks and breathed in the lovely smell of a child, amazed she watched the small hands, the perfect fingers, the wriggling body that she refused to bind.

To Jane, Isabel was a wonder, a miracle that gave her life a meaning that she had never experienced before. Through the birth of her daughter, she had discovered some of life's many miracles. A new little creature had through her come to life and it was her responsibility to guide her daughter through the journey that life was.

The fact that Henry had become the father of a healthy child had boosted his confidence. He always wanted to have new people at court so that he could introduce his daughter to them. Each time that Henry touched Isabel, each time that he took her in his arms and carried her around, Jane became frightened.

When Henry was home, Jane never parted from Isabel and she felt relieved when he left.

To Jane Isabel was the centre of the universe, the sun and the meaning of life. She had filled the black hole that she had in her heart with light and joy.

Mary saw all of this. She saw with growing worry how Jane with body and soul enjoyed motherhood. Jane's wish had become true, God had listened. But Mary could not help the fact that she was worried. She knew that something awful was going to happen.

But what?

28th January 1538

Jane was awoken from her thoughts by Isabel's cries of hunger. She lifted her from the cradle and covered her face with kisses. The nurse came into the room, the glowing Joan. Joan was married to one of the cooks and like Jane a mother. She laid Isabel by her swelling breasts while a jealous Jane looked on.

She wanted nothing else but to breastfeed her own child but everyone had objected. A lady did not breastfeed.

One of Jane's ladies-in-waiting came running through the door. Since she had a hectic blush on her cheeks, Jane understood that something had happened.

"What is it, Lady Sarah?"

"The King has just arrived with some new friends. He requests that you come immediately and wish him welcome."

The sleazy and corny jokes hailed across the table. Henry's friends boasted and gave descriptions of the best brothels in London.

Jane wanted the evening to end.

Henry gave a toast to his daughter and then started boasting of her bright future. A future where father and daughter would walk side by side. Fear grew inside of Jane. It paralyzed her, it stopped her from moving, from talking. Every breath was a torment.

She was the nurse walking in, carrying Isabel. She was the beloved little face, the clear innocent eyes, the rosy cheeks and the love to the child filled her heart. She was Henry take Isabel into his arms, proud he walked around the table to show her up to his friends, who dutifully said that they admired her. She was how Henry lifted Isabel over his head, how he threw her high up in the air and then caught her again. She saw how Henry tripped, how he missed to catch Isabel.

She heard the sound that would haunt her throughout her life. The sound when a little baby's head was crushed against the merciless stone floor.

She tried to rise, tried to reach over to her daughter, tried to scream, but it was all in vain. She just sunk and sunk deeper into the darkness that told her that she had lost her daughter.

She had lost the one thing that had given her life any meaning.

7th February 1538

Henry was not satisfied with his wife. She was not the obedient wife that he wanted her to be. She was a free spirit and that scared him. He could not beat her, since there was a chance that she was with child again.

14th February 1538

Jane was not allowed to leave her chambers. The door was locked and only Henry had the key. The servants left good and water outside the door.

Jane lay in her bed, in the room that was her prison. Two months had gone since the death of Isabel. Two months filled so much pain and humiliation that it was a surprise that she was still alive.

Each night he lay with her and each night she cried when he did. She closed her eyes when he started thrusting into her. She knew that Henry never would be able to break her. He had killed their child, but Jane had survived.

Henry could hurt her body (and so he often did), but not her soul. Nothing he did could hurt her. Each time that he came through the door to torment her she left her body, all that was left to him was a soulless shell without thoughts or feelings.

When Henry had left the room she returned to her aching body, to the pain and the loneliness. She clasped her hands around her stomach and she felt it right away. Her unborn child was sleeping inside her womb.

She knew it.