Wednesday evening

Dear Vincent,
I’ve been meaning to write to you day after day since Christmas — there’s even a half-finished letter to you in my writing-case — and now — if I don’t make haste to write this note you’d get the news that your namesake was here — before then I just want to bid you good-day.
It’s just midnight — the doctor’s sleeping for a while because he wanted to stay here tonight. Theo, Ma1 and Wil are sitting at the table with me — awaiting the things that will come — it’s a strange feeling — always that wondering — will  1v:2 the baby be here tomorrow morning? I can’t write much — but I so much wanted just to talk to you for a moment.
This morning Theo brought in the article in the Mercure,2 and after we’d read it Wil and I talked about you for a long time — I’m so longing for your next letter, which Theo is also looking forward to. Shall I read it? But everything has gone so well up to now — I’ll just keep my spirits up. This evening — all these last few days in fact — I’ve thought about it so much, whether I really have been able to do something to  1v:3 make Theo happy in his marriage. He’s done it for me. He’s been so good to me; so good — if things don’t go well — if I have to leave him — you tell him — for there’s no one in the world whom he loves as much — that he must never regret that we were married, because he’s made me so happy. It sounds sentimental — a message like this — but I can’t tell him now — half of my company has gone to bed, him too because he was so tired. Oh if only I  1r:4 can just give him a dear, healthy little boy, wouldn’t that make him happy? I’ll just close, because I keep having waves of pain which mean that I can’t think or write properly. When you get this it will all be over.

Believe me, your loving