It was Tuesday morning. The moment of truth had arrived, and now that it had, Nicole almost wanted to put off peeing on the stick for another full week. Oh, she still yearned for a baby. Still dreamed of becoming a mother. But so much had changed in three weeks. Parker had entered her life, and in him, she saw the possibility of an enduring relationship.
Like the one her parents shared. Like what Ryan had found with Andi.
With Parker came two little girls. Motherless girls. And Nicole’s heart had already let them in, and their hearts mattered to her. If she were pregnant, that very fact alone might be too much for Parker. Because he would have to accept her baby if they were to remain in a relationship, and if someday that relationship became a marriage. Well, she’d want him—no, she’d expect him—to love her child just as much as she would love Erin and Megan.
But that would also put a huge burden on his shoulders. If she were to face a recurrence. If she were to lose a second battle with her worst enemy, then Parker would have a third child to raise alone. Oh, he’d take on the responsibility and his heart was plenty big enough. Those weren’t the questions. He would give her child everything he gave his girls.
But really, how horribly unfair would that be?
Parker Lennox deserved every good and beautiful and wonderful thing this world had to offer. He did not deserve to lose another woman to cancer and to raise a third child—one that wasn’t even biologically his—all on his own. And oh, Nicole hated that these thoughts were swarming her brain, rather than those of a positive and hopeful nature. She wasn’t ill.
She might not be pregnant, either. And if she wasn’t, she could just stop trying for now. She could give all the necessary time to this relationship, let it grow and blossom and mature, and then, if it made sense and he was a part of the decision from the beginning, attempt to create a baby with Parker instead of a donor, using IVF, just as she was now.
But that would mean waiting even longer to become a mother.
Tough decisions, all the way around, and the longer she held off on peeing on this damn stick, the more time she had to live in limbo. Blissfully unaware. Except, of course, her brain didn’t function that way, and the questions and concerns would continue to eat at her. So, as much as she wished she could wait and push this off into the distance, there was no logic there.
It was time.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Nicole unwrapped the package. She didn’t need to read the instructions, as by now she knew them by heart. So, she did the deed, replaced the cover on the stick and set it on the vanity. She walked out of the bathroom to get a glass of juice, to let Roscoe outside, because she’d learned that standing there and staring at that stick was akin to waiting for a pot of water to boil. Better to do something else for a few minutes.
She let out the dog first, poured her juice second, stood and stared outside third. Did she still want this? Yes. That wasn’t a question, either. There was just so much to consider now that this man was in her life.
Why hadn’t she met him a year ago? Or heck, a week earlier than she had? Because fate didn’t work that way. Easy enough answer, even if it rankled. Because everything happened when it was supposed to, not necessarily when you were ready or wanting or waiting.
Time was up. In almost slow motion, she rinsed out her juice glass and left it in the sink, turned on her heel and went to the bathroom. She stood in the doorway and breathed, reminded herself that positive or negative, nothing else could happen until she knew. Limbo didn’t do anyone any good. Limbo wasn’t a place to aim for, it was simply a place to wait.
Right. Limbo might sound safe and comforting, but in reality, being stuck would cause her far more harm than good. So, she walked forward, her heart in her throat, and picked up the test. She didn’t need to remove the cover to see the result, but she did, anyway. Mostly because she thought her eyes were playing the worst trick in the world on her.
Two pink lines. The positive reading she’d waited so long for that, in nine months, would equal a baby in her arms. It had happened. She was going to be a mother. Joy swept in, almost knocking her to her knees with its swiftness, with its saturating, engulfing power.
A baby. Finally.
* * *
This was one of the last rehearsals before the actual play, and Parker thought the kids were as close to ready as they were going to get. And his girls? Well, they were the most prepared. Erin had lived up to her word and had practiced with Megan every night and on the weekends. Lord, he was proud of them, of the hard work they’d put into this and how their determination was paying off. He was damn lucky to know them. Even luckier to be their father.
“They’re such great kids, Bridget,” he whispered. Safe enough to do so, as no one else was seated in the same row. “And they’re growing up so fast. Too fast, really. I wish you had the chance to know them now, as I do. And oh, do I wish they never had to lose you.”
Losing Bridget had created the biggest, deepest pit of emptiness in their lives, in Parker’s life. He’d tried to deal with that emptiness in a variety of ways; everything from anger to ignoring it even existed. Nothing had proved successful. That gaping hole just kept surviving, no matter what he threw at it. So, he learned to live with the emptiness and had stopped fighting against it so hard. That had worked, to a certain degree, and had certainly given him some peace.
But every day he knew Nicole, every minute spent in her company, every kiss and every laugh and every touch, was slowly eradicating that damn empty space he’d fought for so long.
Miraculous. If a better word existed, he didn’t know what it was.
At the same time, that she fit so well, that she was able to do for him what nothing else, no one else had, scared him senseless. It was an admission he’d rather not make, but there it was, the truth. How could he recognize the good, appreciate the hell out of it, but still be scared? He didn’t know, hadn’t quite worked that one out yet. Until he could, he figured that fear would hang around as long as the emptiness had. And that—well, that was something he couldn’t accept or learn to live with. Doing so would only hold him back.
Reid had been right on that front.
Parker sighed in resignation and a good deal of frustration. He wanted everything possible with Nicole, but that damn voice in his head kept whispering she would just leave him, like Bridget had, and he would be a fool ten times over for thinking, hoping, that this time would be different. So, what was he to do about that? Go forward and ignore the voice, trust his gut knew better, or end things now, before she got sick and he watched another woman wither away?
Another woman he loved. Another woman he wouldn’t be able to save.
He did not know. Couldn’t even hazard a guess other than, whether by his choice, hers, or the universe’s, he did not want to lose Nicole. So for now, he supposed he’d just keep doing what he had been all along: spending whatever time he could with her and hoping that damn fear would go away of its own accord. Just vanish into thin air with a puff of smoke.
His daughters found him then, rehearsals being over. They were hungry and tired, requiring his attention, but happy. Tying his questions, his concerns, into a nice, neat little bow—he couldn’t answer them now, and they’d be there to unravel later—he focused on his girls.
* * *
“You’re sure you don’t want any help?” Nicole asked Parker for the third time. She was at his house, and assuming he managed to untangle the massive ball of twinkle lights, they would soon be decorating the Lennox Christmas tree. “I’m right here, with two capable hands.”
Eyes that were more hazel than blue today met hers. “Nope,” he said with that quirky-as-all-get-out grin. “I am the Christmas lights department, from untangling to stringing the tree.”
She tried not to stare, but this? Not so easy to do. Especially now. His thick, off-white fisherman sweater, along with a pair of blue jeans that seemed specifically made to fit his body, gave him that casually rugged, sexy-man appeal. He even had the stubble-on-jaw thing going.
“To taking the lights down and putting them away, when Christmas is over?” she asked. “Because you know, if so, that mess you’re dealing with? All your fault.”
A rumble of a laugh emerged. “Yeah. I created this mess last year, in my rush to get everything dealt with before our trip to Boston to visit the girls’ maternal grandparents. This year,” he said, “we’re not heading that way until the girls’ spring break.”
Would they still be in each other’s lives in four months’ time? She hoped so, but now that she knew she was pregnant, she had to tell Parker. Tonight. It would be one of their most difficult conversations to date, and she really couldn’t guess how he would react. Shouldn’t try to guess, either. Whatever happened, happened. Better to focus on this moment, rather than the moment, the conversation, that would come later.
Suddenly, a series of playful barks wafted down the stairs from, Nicole assumed, Erin and Megan’s bedroom. She’d finally let the dog off house arrest, and upon arriving an hour ago, the girls had greeted him with such enthusiasm that Roscoe had instantly followed them upstairs.
Parker had then given her a quick tour of the split-level house the Lennox family called home. A single bathroom and two bedrooms were upstairs, one of which the girls shared and the other, naturally, was Parker’s. The downstairs consisted of a large living room, kitchen, dining room and a half bath. It was a cozy house, not large, but spacious enough for a family of three.
This room, the living room, was a comfortable, bright space. Here, Parker had used vivid colors throughout, including a strawberry-red sofa and a puffy, lemon-yellow chair that was large enough to easily hold two adults. There was a low-to-the-ground, square coffee table that was perfect for family game nights and meals in front of the television, and two squat bookshelves that were filled with an array of books, photos and craft supplies. In one of the corners, a pile of pillows and folded blankets were ready for chilly nights and afternoon naps.
She loved the space. It was a room meant to gather, relax and enjoy. Made her think of her own sparse living room and the fact she’d yet to actually buy a sofa. Her house, while larger and architecturally charming, didn’t have near the family appeal of Parker’s. Of course, he’d lived here for years, and she’d barely moved in. She had time to create a home.
“Well, if you don’t need help with that, is there anything I can do?” she asked Parker, whose sandy-blond head was still bent over the knotted ball of lights. And just that quick look in his direction ignited the need in her blood. A hungry sigh escaped. “Bake cookies? Organize the ornaments? Remember, I’m right here, with two perfectly capable hands. And legs.”
“I almost got it, but I do appreciate your offer. All five of them.” Another smile. “And your hands and legs are more than capable. I’d call them downright beautiful.”
“Well, Mr. Lennox, if you weren’t so busy...” She let her words disappear, thinking again about the conversation they had to have later. Sexual innuendos might not be appropriate until they had. Or maybe she should just be herself? “Nothing at all, huh? What about with the girls?”
Parker unraveled a particularly snarly portion of the lights before saying, “See? Almost there! And yes, actually. You could run upstairs and let them know we’ll be ready to hang ornaments soon. Erin will want to make popcorn and Megan likes to pick out the music.”
An easy enough task. Nicole took the stairs two at a time and crossed the short hallway to the girls’ bedroom. Their door was cracked open, so she peeked inside.
It was a beautifully decorated room. Pale green paint coated the walls, along the bottom of which were the cutest multicolored butterfly decals. Fluttery pink curtains framed the two windows, both of which were long and narrow, and in the far corner, a tall shelf housed a small television, books, dolls and art supplies. Rounding out the space were the girls’ beds, wall hangings of ladybugs, flowers and birds, and, of course, an impressive pile of stuffed animals.
It was a delightful room, and perfect for two girls.
At the moment, they were sitting across from each other, dressed similarly in blue jeans and sweaters—pale pink for Megan, sky blue for Erin—and were in identical poses, with their backs against the wall, their legs bent and their scripts on their knees, as they practiced their lines. Geez, she was proud of these two. They were her hardest-working students.
And Roscoe was stretched out between them, evidently worn-out from the exertion of playing with two little girls, rather than only Nicole. Erin had one hand on his head, scratching between his ears, while Megan was petting his back. He was in pure heaven.
“Hey, you two,” she said as she entered the room. The girls stopped going over their lines and Roscoe lifted his head at the sound of her voice. His tail thumped once, twice, three times against the floor. “Hello to you, buddy. I see you’re soaking up all the love you can.”
“We do love him, and he’s fun to play with,” Megan said cheerfully. “Can he stay overnight sometime? And sleep in our room? Please?”
Seeing how she had no idea what Parker would say to such a request, she said, “I know Roscoe would love a sleepover, but that’s something we’d have to go over with your dad.”
“But if he says yes, he can?”
“Well. You’d have to be very careful, because remember, he likes to run.” As she spoke, a rush of light-headedness came over her. Not wanting to alarm the girls, she stepped back to one of the beds and sat down. That, along with the tenderness in her natural breast, were her only symptoms so far, and had started just the other day. The dizziness would pass soon enough. “But yes, if your dad is okay with it, and you are very careful, then I don’t see why not.”
“Oh, thank you!” Megan grinned. “Did you hear that, Erin?”
“Of course I heard, Megan. I’m right here.” Then, setting her script on the floor, she looked at Nicole. “Can I ask you a question? It’s about the play.”
“You can ask me anything you like,” Nicole said, “whenever you like.”
“Um. It’s okay now. I’m not upset or anything anymore,” Erin said, speaking slowly, her brown-eyed gaze directed at the wall behind Nicole. “But why did you give me the Fairy Godmother part? She doesn’t really do anything except talk about the story to the audience.”
Nicole wasn’t shocked by the question. During their carriage ride, Parker had filled her in on what had happened with the girls, and they’d decided it was best to leave the topic alone, unless one of them came to Nicole with questions. And here they were.
“That’s super easy to answer,” Nicole said. “The Fairy Godmother is actually one of the most important roles in the entire play, Erin. She’s the narrator, and for this play, she’s the first voice the audience will hear and the last. I needed someone who was really comfortable onstage, could speak clearly and...well, with personality. You were the very best person for the role.”
“Really?” Erin asked. “The best person for one of the most important roles?”
“Really. And both of you are doing an excellent job.” Rather than easing, the dizziness had grown worse. “I’m proud of you. Both of you.”
“We’ve been practicing a lot.” This came from Megan. “Every single day and night.”
“I can tell. I really appreciate all your hard work, and I wish everyone else in the play had the same mind-set.” Nicole pushed the hair from her forehead and breathed in deeply. She might need to get some juice or lie down. “Your dad wanted me to tell you that we’re almost ready to start decorating the tree. Erin can make the popcorn and Megan can choose the music.”
Megan jumped to a stand, put away her script and sped downstairs in all of ten seconds. Erin, however, stayed on the floor, petting Roscoe with one hand while flicking at the corner of the script pages with the other. “I guess I have another question,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“It sure is. Ask away.”
“You and Daddy are dating, right? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?” The words were spoken in a casual tone, and nothing about Erin’s body language seemed to state she was upset.
But Nicole didn’t know what Parker had told them, if anything, and she didn’t think it was her place to speak for him on something so important. So, she went with “We’ve become good friends, sweetie. I enjoy your dad’s company, and he seems to enjoy mine.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Erin, thank goodness, because the next words out of her mouth were “I should go make the popcorn. Want to come with me and help?”
“I would love to help, and we can check in on your dad. See if he is still untangling those lights or if they’ve made it to the tree yet,” Nicole said as she stood. Oh. Bad idea. The room spun and her vision swam. She sat down again, instantly, and put her head between her knees.
“Nicole, are you okay?” Erin asked. “Nicole?”
Roscoe, sensing her distress, pulled himself off the floor and sat next to the bed, leaning all of his weight against Nicole’s legs. A sense of security stole in, safety. Roscoe was always there for her, no matter what. He whined, just a little, and pushed his nose into her hair.
“Yes, sweetie. I just need to sit here for a minute,” Nicole managed to say. Oh, this was bad. As in, she might actually pass out, bad. “Could you get me some juice, maybe?”
“Does it matter what kind of juice? We have apple and orange and grape.”
“You choose. Just...hurry, please.”
She heard Erin take off at a dead run, yelling for her father. She heard Parker’s voice, loud and concerned, and his footsteps as he charged up the stairs. Throughout it all, she kept breathing, kept her head between her knees and hoped she wouldn’t faint.
Oh, how she hated this feeling. Of not having any control over her body.
And then, there was Parker. “What’s going on, honey?” His voice was a comforting mix of warmth and strength, and just by the sound of it, by his very presence, she felt protected. Cared for. “Tell me what the problem is. What do you need?”
“I’m really light-headed. I... Wow, this is bad.” She pushed out the words, feeling as if she were trying to talk while underwater. “I asked Erin to get me juice. That should help.”
Roscoe whined again, pushed his nose harder into her hair. He remembered those days, in that canine brain of his, when she would sit like this, trying to quell the nausea, the dizziness, that the chemo brought forth. And he’d stay with her, like he was now, for, well, sometimes, for hours on end. This dog had been with her, every dark and tortured step of the way.
Sitting in front of her, Parker rubbed his hands up and down her calves, the warmth of his skin easily permeating the thin fabric of her leggings to reach her skin. And the warmth, the rhythmic movement, the pressure of his touch, all served to offer another level of comfort.
“Did you eat today, before coming over?” he asked. She heard the fear resonating in his tenor, and she knew he was remembering similar moments with Bridget. She just knew.
“I ate, yes, but maybe not enough,” Then, “I’ll be okay, Parker.”
Erin returned then, saying, “Nicole? I have your juice. I hope apple is okay.”
“Apple is perfect,” Nicole said, lifting her head and accepting the juice. “Thank you, sweetie.” She took a sip, a small one, and then another. When those went down okay, she drank half of what was left and waited for her body to become hers again.
“Why don’t you go check on your sister?” Parker asked Erin. “And you might as well start the popcorn. So it’s ready when we decorate. How does that sound, sweets?”
“But is Miss Brad—Nicole, I mean...is she okay?”
“She’s a little dizzy, is all. Nothing to worry about,” Parker said. “I promise. And when she’s feeling better, she’ll probably want some of that popcorn.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely want some popcorn, Erin,” Nicole said, hoping her voice now sounded steady and strong. “I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes, let this juice finish doing its thing, and we’ll be right down.”
When Erin left, Parker’s concerned gaze locked onto hers. “Tell me the truth, Nicole. Should I be worried about this dizzy spell of yours, beyond a low blood sugar response?”
“No. Not worried, Parker. I promise.”
“Okay. Then finish your juice and we’ll get you something more substantial to eat,” he said, obvious relief in his cadence, in his expression. “And maybe, after the tree, when the girls go to bed, we can just take it easy and watch a movie. Just us, by the light of the tree.”
Oh. That sounded wonderful. Amazing. But this man’s heart was so very important. The last thing she ever wanted was to cause him harm, in any way. And this dizzy spell of hers had done just that. She knew—by his question, by the stark concern and fear in his eyes—that this experience had brought at least one frightening memory to the surface, and oh, she felt bad.
He’d asked for the truth, and while she’d answered his question honestly, she hadn’t told him everything. She opened her mouth, set to tell him she was pregnant, when she clamped it shut again. The girls were downstairs, waiting for them to decorate the Christmas tree. There was to be popcorn and Christmas music, and giggles and happiness. This was not the time.
So, she nodded and finished her juice and, when the spinning room finally settled to a full stop, went downstairs with Parker. She was already half in love with this man. Maybe more than half. She adored his daughters and could see being their—well, not their mother, as Bridget could never be replaced—but their mother figure, she supposed. And she would be honored.
So very honored.
Within an hour, after a hastily prepared meal of canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, the Lennox team was finally ready to decorate the Christmas tree. Megan started the music, the first song being “Frosty the Snowman,” and a big bowl of popcorn sat in the middle of the coffee table. And the girls—they were beside themselves with excitement.
Sipping her hot cocoa, Nicole sat on the sofa and took everything in, knowing she would want to remember every aspect of this evening. This was important. To the girls, to Parker and, therefore, to her. One large plastic bin sat in the very middle of the living room floor. No one had removed the lid yet, and the girls, as they played with Roscoe, kept looking at their father. Waiting, she assumed, for him to give them the go-ahead to open that bin and start decorating. It felt, well, a lot like the start of a marathon, waiting for the whistle to blow.
All at once, Parker went to the front of the now beautifully lit Christmas tree and clapped his hands. Loudly. At the sound, the girls stopped playing with Roscoe and bounced to their feet. They hunched their bodies forward, their arms at their sides, with one leg just slightly in front of the other, and Nicole almost laughed—almost, because yes, this did seem very much like a marathon was about to begin. A Christmas tree decorating marathon, perhaps.
“Are you two ready?” Parker asked. “And do you remember the rules?” Both girls nodded and leaned forward another inch. “Okay, then. Get ready! Get set! And...go!”
And bam, they were running toward the bin with all their might, which was only a few feet from where they started, so it took them all of ten seconds. If that. Megan got there first, by the slenderest of hairs, and threw herself on top of the closed bin.
“Me! I got here first!” she exclaimed with a mile-wide smile. “Right, Daddy?”
“That’s my official call,” Parker said, grinning at Nicole. “What did you see, Nicole?”
“It was very close,” she said, “But yes, Megan was first.”
Erin didn’t argue or try to insist on a different call, just dropped to the floor next to the bin, saying, “Good job, Megan! You beat me fair and square.”
“Thank you, Erin!” Megan said. She slid off the bin. “Can I start, Daddy?”
Crossing the room to sit by Nicole, Parker nodded. “Go for it, kiddo.”
Megan took off the lid and, one by one, removed smaller boxes from inside. She seemed to be looking for one specific box, and finally, she found it. And from that box, she gently—almost reverently—removed a hand-painted ornament. An angel. She wasn’t that large, maybe three inches long, with pale golden hair, a sparkling halo, and clasped in her hands was a flower.
“This one,” Megan said softly. “I want to hang this one first.”
“Tell us why, kiddo,” Parker said, his voice equally as soft. Emotional. “Why that one?”
“Because this one is the very last angel that Mommy ever painted.” Megan turned the ornament over in her hands and showed the underside, where the initials “BL” were written in a black marker, along with the year. “We never choose her to go first, and I was thinking...if this is the last angel that Mommy painted, she should be first on the tree.”
“I think that is an excellent reason.” And as he spoke, his hand found Nicole’s. He held it, tightly, as if he was afraid she’d run away. “I remember when she painted that one, sweets. She changed the hair color several times. At first, that angel had brown hair, then white, and then several different shades of blond, until she finally found the right color. That color.”
The girls paid rapt attention to every word Parker said, obviously hungry to hear anything and everything they could about their mother. Nicole knew that Megan had basically zero memories of Bridget, and Erin had retained only a few. That broke her heart, not just for the girls or Parker, but for Bridget. She couldn’t even know that her words, her voice, her touch would be remembered by her precious daughters. And that, well, for lack of a better word, sucked.
Without thought, Nicole put her hand—the one that Parker wasn’t holding—on her stomach, thought about the life growing inside. She hoped she would never need someone to keep her memory alive for this child, but she would want that, if the need existed. She would want someone who loved her, knew her and understood her to create a picture for her son or daughter. Like Parker had for Bridget, with Erin and Megan.
It was a lot to think about. All these possibilities, good and bad.
“Can I hold her for a second, Megan?” Erin asked. “Before you hang her on the tree?”
Megan nodded but didn’t speak, just handed the angel ornament to her sister. Erin turned it over in her hands a couple of times before standing and walking to the sofa. Naturally, Nicole thought she was bringing it to Parker, but instead, she held the angel next to Nicole’s face.
A pair of ten-year-old brown eyes looked at the angel, then at Nicole, then back to the angel, and even though Nicole didn’t understand what was going on or why, she didn’t move a muscle. She barely breathed. And she certainly did not say a word.
“Daddy,” Erin finally said in a hushed tone. “Mommy’s last angel looks like Nicole.”
Megan rushed over, to see for herself. “She does! They both have green eyes and blond hair and...and the very first time Daddy met Miss Bradshaw, she was dressed like an angel!”
“Girls, lots of people have blond hair and green eyes,” Parker said. “And you know why Nicole was dressed as an angel. It was for the Christmas play tryouts. Just a coincidence.”
“No, Daddy,” Erin insisted. She passed the ornament to her father. “Look for yourself!”
“I’m sorry,” Parker whispered to Nicole as he held the ornament next to her face, just as Erin had. Blinking, he gave his head a quick shake and traced a finger from her cheeks down to her chin. “Well, you are correct, Erin. I see the resemblance, too. But, girls, I promise you, this is nothing but a coincidence. Your mother didn’t know Nicole.”
Handing her the ornament, Nicole looked at the angel’s face. Oh. Wow. It wasn’t just the painted color of hair and eyes, which was, eerily enough, spot-on, but the angel had the same curve to her cheeks, the same full mouth, the same rounded chin.
Coincidence, as Parker had said, of course. But a strange one.
The Christmas tree lights still twinkled, and music still played—now the song was “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”—the popcorn bowl still sat in the middle of the coffee table, but the feeling in the room had shifted from jubilant and excited to quiet and almost spiritual. Nicole thought that was okay, probably how it should be, as the girls and Parker were thinking about Bridget and how she should be here with them, helping to decorate the tree.
Breaking the silence was Parker, who handed the angel ornament back to Megan. “You won, sweets, so pick the exactly right spot for this angel.”
Megan walked to the tree and stood there, as tall and straight as a little girl could, looking for the perfect place to hang the last ornament her mother had ever painted. “At the top, Daddy. I want her right at the top, so she can look down on us and see everything. Just like Mommy can.”
Without speaking so much as a syllable, Parker went to his daughter and lifted her high into his arms, holding her steady while she oh-so-carefully hung her angel. Right at the top, facing front, so yes, she could see everything. A place of honor, Nicole thought.
Not only for the angel ornament, but for the woman who had painted her.
She had a feeling that she’d have liked Bridget Lennox. In a strange way, almost as odd as how much she resembled Bridget’s angel, Nicole missed the woman, too. Even though she’d never met her, there was a connection between them. And no, it wasn’t the type of cancer they’d shared, or the hell they’d gone through in their attempts to kick its ass.
It was love. For this family.