Gracia sat heavily on the couch, smiling sadly as she looked to the family portrait that hung above the mantle. Elicia was safely on her way with her boy, and she was left alone with the ghost of hers. Still, she wasn't afraid. Maes's presence was warm. Slowly, Gracia closed her eyes, and leant her head against the couch. If she concentrated just a little more, she could feel the weight of his arm on her shoulders.

"Maes," she said softly. "I'm happy. We're happy," The sickening pain and grief had been worn away with the years, eased by every one of their daughter's smiles, every kind word from her lips, and she and Elicia were happy. No, not as happy as she would be with her husband's arm truly resting on her shoulders, or with their son sitting on her lap. But to have known Maes Hughes, the love of her life, no matter how briefly, made her life infinitely more joyous than it could've been. Gracia was content with what had been given her.