Ellen steps forward: "Look, don't worry." Seriously: "Because you have all the proof right there that he loves you. You know, when we were still trying to have our own, he always brought up the name Liam..." Is that kindness, a momentary reverie, or another horrible blow? A shot in the dark, hoping it will connect, I think. Hoping she's right, and Saul still loves Bill most of all. Caprica cries, looking up to God, grinning with pain. Even this is borrowed. Even this is taken from her, with a smile and a soft laugh: "Pure Cylon baby! If Simon knew, he'd want it so badly..."
Caprica, horrified, steps forward too: "I'll take care of this child." Ellen sweetly flaps a hand at her. "That wasn't a threat, Caprica!" But Caprica smiles; she's been playing this game her whole life. Frankly, she's better at it. Good, better, best, bested. "No," she says almost kindly, "It was a threat." She remembers life with Three and Gaius, how it almost worked. How threes fall apart. (First there is nothing, then there is something. Then there are two somethings, that look upon each other. Then there are three, and threes fall apart. Then comes Simon.) "I don't know why you couldn't have children, Ellen. Sometimes love must not be enough, because he loved you." Kindness, but still past tense. Ellen nods at the honesty, the too terrible honesty: this has all happened before.
We are only women doing impossible math, dividing four hearts by infinity: "Yes, this... This is rough. But what can I do? If I make him choose between you and me, I know the best I could do would be to tear him in half." "Don't," Caprica says. It's unclear whom she fears would be hurt worse. Ellen makes a vow, taking her daughter by the shoulders: "I won't. You win. The man loves you." Caprica weeps, in gratitude; she doesn't know yet what it means that Ellen made her, made the heart that beats in her. With every word Ellen saves and damns the child, up and then down, safe and endangered. Gives love, and takes it away: "In fact, I'd say there isn't much he loves more." She strikes her Anne pose, holding Caprica's gaze, her hands, touching her belly fondly. A mother to a daughter. She smiles and leaves, and Caprica weeps. For Liam and what his name means, for Liam and what he means, for all the ways love is given and denied.