I Am a Doctor, Dear — The Yellow Wallpaper

It is hard to talk with John about her case, because he is so wise, and because he loves her so. She tried last night. Moonlight crept in while he slept. She watched the undulating paper until the faint figure behind seemed to shake it, as if she wanted to get out. She rose to feel whether the paper moved. When she came back he was awake. He called her little girl and told her not to walk about or she would get cold.

She said she was not gaining and wished he would take her away. He cannot leave before the three-week lease ends. Repairs wait at home. If she were in danger he could and would, but she is better whether she can see it or not. He is a doctor, dear, and he knows. She is gaining flesh and colour. She does not weigh more. Her appetite may be better in the evening when he is there, and worse in the morning when he is away. He hugs her and says she shall be as sick as she pleases. They will sleep now and talk in the morning.

She asks if he will not go away. How can he? Three weeks more, then a little trip. She begins, Better in body perhaps, and a stern look stops the clause. He begs her, for his sake and the child's, never to let that idea enter her mind. Can she not trust him as a physician? She says no more. He thinks she sleeps first. She does not. She lies for hours asking whether the front pattern and the back pattern move together or separately.