God may cut away to you a tree and a thistle, and make ready a way to you; forsooth it behoves you to pass the way, which is now open to you.

"Maman, may we go outside to play?" inquired the playful Philippe.

"Of course, but your sister must come along as well," Anne replied.

The sun shone across the Chasteau Royale de Blois, and Anne was quite happy to have her husband back at home. He had returned to Blois late last year, seeing his children and wife once again after so long. It was March now, and Anne had begun to feel her bump in her belly.

To raise children is beautiful, and God has given Anne an opportunity to raise these two children to the best of her ability. Philippe would one day be King, and to be a King one must be raised right. As she watched her son and daughter play in the garden, she knew in her gut that she would not be able to see them accomplish their greatest acts. Such is the great pain of a mother, who must raise a child but cannot live to see what has truly come of the raising.

Nevertheless, Anne smiled at what God has given her.

Tears flowed from Anne's eyes as she kneeled, hands clasped in prayer and begging.

"O God, what have I done to deserve this again?" She asked, the words barely able to escape.

The icons of Saint Margaret of Antioch and Saint Francis de Paul stared at her.

"Have I not been a pious Christian? Have I not been deserving of prayers? God, please tell me, God, please help me."

Her voice broke. "Please, dear Father." She lowered herself to the floor, praying silently. Tears fell like heavy raindrops against her upturned palms. They dripped and soaked into the wooden flooring of the bedroom. She continued speaking aloud, though no one heard her voice above the sound of thundering rain on the roof and crashing down upon her pious heart.

Louis had heard the wails of his wife and arrived in the royal chambers with haste. He knew what had happened without having to ask. Anne bowed her head, begging under her breath as she whimpered. Louis kneeled next to her.

"I am sorry, my dear," Louis whispered to his wife.

Anne turned her head to look at him, her eyes red and running. Louis too, broke down in tears at the sight of his wife in such pain. Her face was puffy, red, and filled with clear despair. The look on her tear stained face tore at Louis’s heart. This wasn't the first time they'd cried together and Louis hoped to never see it happen again. Yet here it was, and the sight would never fail to bring the King to tears. The sight of the woman he loved, weeping uncontrollably and ceaselessly. Tormented and tested. God gives us all tests, and Anne perhaps tested the most. She had been through so much lately, and her suffering wasn't over. The trial of life would continue on.

Louis took hold of Anne's hand and held it close. He kissed her hand tenderly. "It is all right. Everything will be alright," Louis attempted to consol her. "We have you now, Anne. All we need to do is take care of each other."

Anne nodded.. She leaned towards Louis and placed her forehead against his chest, crying into him. Louis wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. Tears fell from Louis's eyes and onto Anne's hair. Anne gasped, collapsing into his arms.

"Louis, why does this happen to me?" she sobbed weakly into his shoulder.

"I do not know, my love. I do not know."

Louis began to rub comforting circles onto her back. "Do not cry, dear one." He kissed the top of her head gently, rocking them both back and forth as he cried for himself and for his beloved queen. Louis felt so useless, powerless to change the situation or ease Anne's sorrow.

They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, holding each other and crying for themselves and for each other. Finally, after some time, they were both composed again, although Anne had still shed some more tears.

"God bless you, my love," Louis whispered to his wife. "You are brave, you are strong, and you are still here."

Anne did not reply, for there were no words to say and no energy to say them with. She simply nodded solemnly. She has no choice but to continue forward. For her children, and for her husband.