The Good of Thorns

By S. Faith, © 2016

Words: 11,722
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes:: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: Everything Changes

Mid-October (cont.)

Bridget watched Mark moving around the kitchen with ease, instructing Martin to do this little task or that, and she smiled. There was a time Mark couldn't find the plates in that kitchen. The scene warmed her heart and eased her mind; he had seemed distracted when she'd spoken to him earlier that day, but whatever it had been had apparently passed.

After whipping together a pot of tomato sauce (Mark) and grating a plate of parmesan (Martin), Mark directed Martin to lay out some plates and silverware. Unfortunately, one of the plates slipped from the pile and crashed to the ground, shattering into countless pieces. Instantly, inexplicably, Martin burst into tears.

"It's all right," she said, getting to her feet to go to him, as Mark went around to get the broom and dustpan. "Accidents happen."

"I know," he said between his tears, clearly frustrated. She handed him a tissue. "I can do lots of things a b—" he began, but stopped himself, making Bridget wonder what he had been about to say.

"You do lots of things very well," she said. She didn't know quite why he was so upset; she patted the top his head, smoothing down the curls, in lieu of crouching for a hug. "Really, it's okay. And to be honest," she said in a conspiratorial tone, "I think we have too many of those boring white plates, anyway."

At this, Martin cracked the smallest of smiles.

"Really, Martin, don't fret about it," Mark said kindly. "If you'd go and get another plate, dinner is ready."

"I'll get it," Bridget said. "You can set out the forks."

By the time they actually sat down to eat, Martin's spirits were restored, and he regaled his father with a list of everything they had done that day with more smiles and giggles. After dinner, Martin helped to clean up, and when it was time for bed, he went without fuss to go and wash up for bed.

"I've got my mobile… my diary… if I leave anything down here—"

"I'll come back down here for it for you, don't worry," said Mark, slipping his arm around her waist.

"I have really begun to hate the levels in this house," she said as they began the trek up the stairs.

"I know, darling, and I'm sorry," he said. "If it were possible to get a lift installed…"

She couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

She peeked into Martin's room to see the nightlight glowing, to see he had already tucked himself in.

"Night, Mum," he said to her. She came in, sat on the bed, and bent to give him a goodnight kiss.

"Night, my dearest Martin." She sat up and combed her fingers through his curls. "Thank you for everything today," she said tenderly, "but I have a question for you about your stomach ache." She paused a moment, then asked, "You didn't really have one, did you?"

He seemed to know the jig was up. He shook his head. "Don't be angry with me."

"I'm not," she said, "but you can't just say you're sick to stay home whenever you want to. Remember the story about the boy who cried wolf?"

"Yes."

"You should absolutely say so when you're sick, so you can stay home, rest, and not pass it to your classmates," Bridget said, "but if you start to say you're sick all the time…"

"You're not gonna believe me," he supplied. "I get it. I'm sorry. And I'm glad you're not angry."

"Not angry," she said. "Just don't do it again."

He nodded again. "I won't. I promise."

"Good boy." She leant and kissed his head again. "Night-night."

"Night, Mum."

She met Mark just outside the door; he had clearly heard it all. "You're such a pro at this being-a-mum thing," he said quietly.

She felt unreasonably proud of herself. "Go on and kiss your son goodnight so we can get to bed."

She brushed out her hair, cleaned her teeth, and donned her nightgown. Mark joined her momentarily, heading for the sink to wash up for the night. She got into bed, settled in beneath the sheets, and within a few moments he returned and began to strip down out of his clothing. She realised just then how tired he looked, too. He must have really pushed himself that day in order to be able to start his leave a week and a half sooner than planned.

When he slipped in beside her, she wasted no time curling up to him, planting a kiss on his lips. "That," she said, "is to thank you for being so amazing."

"Amazing?" He looked truly bewildered. "Well, I'm humbled, but thank you for that."

"I couldn't have asked for better support," she said. "Nothing about what's coming feels too scary, because I know I'll have you." She laughed lightly. "And Martin."

"It's my pleasure," he murmured, raising a hand to cup her face tenderly, then kissed her at length, folding her into his arms.

It was the best way to end a day, bar none.

When she woke the next morning, she found that Mark had already left; she found a note at her bedside, in which he said he couldn't bear to wake her, to have a nice day, and to take it easy again that day: "Watch your Pride and Prejudice, if you must force yourself to stay settled down." She laughed and set it aside. He must have also done the school run.

Indeed, she was very grateful for his support. For him.

She showered and dressed, then looked around the room to gather up all of the things she would need, so that she wouldn't have to make another trip upstairs. When she reached the foyer, she noticed that the post had come, and she lowered herself to scoop it up from the floor. They appeared to be the usual postal fare—solicitations, statements, bills—save for one curious silver-grey envelope. It was addressed to Mark, and was in a hand that she did not recognise. She couldn't even quite tell if the printing on the front was done by a man or woman, and there was no return address to speak of. It wasn't his birthday, and she didn't think they'd receive well-wishes for the baby addressed just to him.

It was curious, but she would just ask him about it when she spoke to him next. She placed it all on the sideboard table there in the foyer to deal with later, then continued down to the lower level to where the telly was.

After getting through the first half of the mini—because she would have been foolish to turn down a suggestion of his—she decided to ring Mark to find out about whether she should get Martin from school.

"No, I've asked Alberta if she wouldn't mind helping out again on a part-time basis," he said. He sounded harried, distracted. "She's going to do the school run today. Hope that's okay."

"Oh, that's fine," she said. She liked Alberta and would be glad to see her again. "Thanks for taking care of that."

"Of course."

"Oh, by the way," she said, "you got something by post today."

"Oh?" he asked. "What is it? Who's it from?"

"No idea," she replied. "And I can't tell. It's a small thing, like a notecard."

He didn't say anything. "Hmm," he said. "How strange. Well, why don't you just go ahead and open it?"

"It's upstairs, and I'm not. I can go and get it if you really want."

"No, not necessary," he said. "We'll have a look later then."

"Okay," she said. "Until then."

…

Mark put down the phone, letting out a long breath. He had not let on how much the mention of this mysterious envelope had rattled him, on the heels of spotting his ex-wife a day prior. His opportunity to talk to her after Martin had gone to sleep had not come to be, for once he was in bed and holding her in his arms, he had no desire to shatter the peace by mentioning it then.

He had a feeling the envelope was connected somehow to the sighting. It would be too odd a coincidence otherwise.

As the morning passed into early afternoon, Mark became increasingly anxious. If the envelope had been from her, he did not want Martin to see it, because he would assuredly ask what it was. He decided then to wrap up his final day and leave for home earlier than he'd originally planned.

The moment he stepped through the front door, he knew his suspicions had been correct. He knew the handwriting instantly. He set down his briefcase and immediately pulled open the envelope.

Mark,

I had hoped my trip into London would not come to your notice, but I saw you as assuredly as you saw me. Just wanted to let you know—because I know this will concern you—that I am not going to show up on your doorstep in some mad attempt to assert the maternal rights I'd surrendered. I have no interest in taking on that role now, and I would not wish to disrupt your life or his in such a way. Rest easy; you may think me a monster to have done what I did, but I'm not that much of a monster.

Saw a blurb in Tatler that you have remarried, and are expecting a child with her soon. My sincerest congratulations. I hope that you are all well.

T.

He exhaled sharply, then folded the note in half again and slipped it back into its envelope. It could have been worse, he supposed, such as the scenario she had herself described. He was brought back only to the present at the sound of his name coming from downstairs. He couldn't not show her. He needed to do it now. He shed his mack, slipped out of his shoes, and unbuttoned his suit jacket as he descended the stairs.

"Christ, Mark, who died?"

This was the first thing she said when she saw him.

"Why are you home so early?" she continued from her seat on the sofa. "Not that I'm not glad to see you…" She saw the envelope in his hand, and pushed herself forward to try to stand up. "What's going on?"

"Don't get up," he said, then sat beside her. He held up the envelope. "Before you read this, I want you to know that I had every intention of telling you about this last night. With everything that was going on with Martin, though, and then once we were in bed…"

Her features clouded over. "Mark, you're scaring me."

"When I was with Giles and the client at the lunch meeting yesterday… I saw her."

"Who?"

He pursed his lips. "My ex-wife," he said quietly, as if his son could possibly hear. "Martin's biological mother."

"No," Bridget said; she sounded breathless, but genuinely panicked. "I thought she didn't live in London."

"I don't think she does."

"Oh, God," said Bridget. Tears welled in her eyes. He knew what was going through her mind. Her thoughts were assuredly with Martin.

"I didn't think she saw me, but…." He sighed.

"She's not here to…" Bridget began, trailing off.

"No," he said.

"How do you know?" She placed her hands protectively on her rounded belly. "Maybe she's thought long and hard about this over the years. Maybe she's had a change of heart. There's no way I could turn my back on our baby."

You are a vastly better woman than she is, thought Mark. He held the note out to her. "I think this note will assuage your concerns."

She took it, pulled the paper out, read the brief paragraphs, then read them again. Then she looked up to him.

"She's not coming here," said Bridget.

"No."

"She's not taking Martin away."

"Even if she tried," Mark reminded, "she doesn't have any right to do so."

She sighed in relief, then leaned forward and put her arms around him. "I wish you'd said something to me yesterday," she said, then began sobbing into his shoulder.

"I didn't want to add to your stress," he said quietly, returning the embrace. "I hated to see you look like this, even just for thirty seconds."

They sat in this tight embrace until they started to hear noises from the upstairs floor; Alberta was home with Martin. Bridget pushed Mark away with unexpected brusqueness, but he understood.

"Oh, God. I feel like we need to burn this," she said, the note crumpled and dampened in her hand. "I don't want Martin to see it. It'd upset him."

"I don't like keeping anything from him," Mark said, "but on this I would agree." He took the note back from her and shoved it into his jacket pocket, getting to his feet just as Martin and Alberta came downstairs.

"Oh, Mr Darcy," said Alberta. "I didn't expect to see you."

"I didn't expect to be here," Mark said.

"Was going to make Martin a snack—and Mrs Darcy, too, if she wants one."

"Everything okay?" asked Martin, furrowing his fine brows.

"Yes, just fine, except that I would like a big hug from you," said Bridget.

As Martin went over to his mum, Mark caught Alberta's eye; he could tell she had questions. Mark mouthed the words, "It's okay." She nodded, accepting his word at face value.

"I'll make you snacks, then," Alberta said quietly, then went into the kitchen.

"Were you crying?" Martin asked as he sat beside her and put his arms around her.

"A little," she said, "but hormones—well, because of the baby, the silliest things make me cry."

"Oh," said Martin. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, clasping the back of his head to hold him close, tears starting fresh. "I'm all right now."

9 November

She knew Martin was disappointed. She was disappointed, too. Life as he'd come to know it had been interrupted, and it had been taking its toll on him; she had never seen him act out as he had been doing, leaving his toys out, not putting his dirty clothes in the bin, not eating his vegetables in full. She understood even though these actions tested her patience to the limit. They had been testing them both.

Because of her size, the discomfort caused by too much walking so close to the due date meant they couldn't do anything special for their joint birthday as they'd done the year before. The Darcys and the Joneses had come up for lunch the weekend before, but on the birthday itself, they had to be content only with searching for the prince's planet through the skylight from the lowest level of the house. While Mark made preparations in the kitchen, she and Martin were situated on the sofa in the darkened sitting room, looking up towards the night sky.

"I'm so sorry we can't do a proper birthday party," Bridget said. "But we have cake, and party hats, and sparkling apple juice."

"And candles to blow out," added Martin.

She smiled at him. "My candles might set off the smoke alarm."

"So when does the baby show up?" Martin asked. "Wasn't today the due day?"

"The due date is just a guess," she said. "Could happen sooner, could happen later."

"Oh."

"A lot has to happen before the baby shows up," she said. "so I'm going to guess that it's not going to happen today."

"Oh," Martin said again, though she caught him smiling. She guessed that he was pleased to not give up that special shared birthday with her. Maybe that had been the source of his frustration. Everything about when the baby arrived was far beyond anyone's control, but especially his.

"Have you had any luck, Martin?" Mark called. She knew that he referred to seeing the prince's planet.

"No," Martin called back, looking up again, clearly disappointed. "It's too cloudy to see anything."

"There's always next year," said Bridget, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

"Here we are," said Mark, coming closer, bearing a tray; on it sat a small round vanilla cake with vanilla frosting that bore eight candles, and a smaller, specially frosted large cupcake (from the same patisserie that made the cake) with a single candle coming up. Mark had already lit the candles, and their glow, the brightest thing in the room, danced across his features. The tray also bore three glasses of sparkling apple juice.

"Hey, Mum only has one candle."

"There's no way thirty-four candles would fit on her special cupcake," Mark said.

"On the plus side, we don't have to worry about the smoke detector."

Mark sang the both of them the standard 'happy birthday' tune, and together, in sync, Bridget and Martin blew out their candles. Mark flicked on the lights as Martin pulled out the candles, licking the frosting off the bottom, a wide grin on his face. "I'm almost ten!" he said.

"Oh, for the days of rounding up one's age," Bridget said with a chuckle.

Mark and Martin each had a piece of the vanilla cake—like father, like son—and Bridget bit into her amazing, delicious cupcake, chocolate with salted caramel frosting.

"To Martin and Bridget on their shared birthday," said Mark, raising his glass. "The best son and wife a man could have."

"And to probably one of the last days that we'll just be a family of three," added Bridget.

They touched their glasses together, then took a long sip. "This is so much better than the other fizzy stuff we had before," said Martin.

She glanced to Mark with a smile; that champagne toast had been when she'd agreed to adopt Martin, and to marry his father, last year at Christmas. How much had happened since their birthday the year before.

"Next year I'll bake a cake," said Bridget. "And I'll pour chocolate sauce lava all over it."

Mark pointed his fork towards Bridget. "But only if you pile it up, broken and steaming, onto a plate first," he said.

Martin smirked, then giggled.

When they were done eating the cake, Mark stepped away to get Martin his presents. One was a tablet computer for him, on which he could play games and read (pre-loaded with his favourite books, including The Little Prince). His eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Oh my goodness! It's just like Mum's!" he said, holding the box to his chest. "It's the best present ever. I love it!"

"You still have another present," Mark said, holding up a smaller box.

Bridget smiled broadly in anticipation of Martin opening the second gift. She'd had some idea of how excited it would make him, but when he opened the box, realised what he was looking at, that her expectations had not been high enough.

"Oh my goodness!" he exclaimed. It was the keys to a miniature drivable car, silver in colour and greatly resembling the car his father drove. Then he looked all around himself. "Where is it?"

"Where do cars get parked?" Mark said.

Martin got to his feet faster than she'd ever seen him, racing out to the garage to see it. Bridget and Mark began to laugh.

"Can I drive it inside?" he called to them. "Can I?"

"No, Martin," said Mark, then to Bridget he said, "I'll go to him and explain." He then walked towards the garage.

With a smile still lingering on her lips, she reclined on the sofa, placing her hands upon her belly as she let out a big, satisfied sigh. As if in agreement, the baby delivered a pair of kicks to her bladder, making the need to go that much stronger. With a great groan she got herself to her feet.

"I'm going to take Martin for a little test drive up and down the street," Mark called.

"All right," she called back. "Stick to the pave—" Just then she realised her stretchy yoga pants were wet most of the way down her legs… and she still had to pee. "Mark, wait," she said, fully realising what this meant. "Come here."

He came back in from the garage. "Hm? Do you need help getting up? Oh, you're—what's that? Did you spill your juice?"

"No."

"Did you… not make it to the loo—"

"No," she said again with emphasis.

It was then that the penny dropped. Mark's face went pale. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

Fortunately, after that moment of shock, Mark snapped back into the version of himself who knew how to keep a level head in a crisis. He called for Martin to return from the garage.

"Martin, we're going to have to postpone your test drive."

Martin looked exceedingly disappointed. "No!" he said, exasperated.

"I'm afraid yes," Mark said.

"It's not fair! It's my birthday!"

"Martin," said Bridget, "it's the baby."

"It's always the baby!" Martin said, surprising the two of them.

"Martin," Mark said again, more firmly. "The baby's coming. We have to go to the hospital as soon as possible. No one has control over that. Now I'm going to call Alberta to come watch you, and then we have to leave. I want you to apologise to your mum."

Martin set his jaw firmly, looked to Bridget, but said nothing.

"Martin. Now."

She could see his lower lip trembling, before he exclaimed abruptly, "I'm sorry I have to share you with a baby!" He then burst into tears and ran up the stairs.

…

Mark was at a loss for words at Martin's outburst. Bridget looked devastated.

"Mark, what on earth…" she began, trailing off, tears in her own eyes.

"Call Alberta," Mark said. "I will get to the bottom of what's going on with Martin. Are you having pain yet?"

She shook her head.

"Sit down, sit back. I'll be back as soon as I can with your hospital bag."

As she continued on to the loo, Mark took the stairs up two at a time to find Martin had gone to his own room. The door was shut, and through it he could hear Martin sobbing. Without knocking Mark went in.

"Dad!" he said, wiping his cheek, as if he had not expected that Mark would have followed him upstairs, or come in unannounced.

"You owe your mum an apology," Mark said sternly. "I don't know what has gotten into you. How could you speak that way to her?"

"It just came out." He looked down. "But if I have to share her with a baby, maybe it means she won't need me anymore, even though I can do lots of things a baby can't do."

"Why in the world would you think that, Martin?" he said. "She loves you as much as always. With all of her heart, and then some." Remembering a conversation they'd once had, he added, "Remember what I said about there always being room for more love? That's never been more true."

"But it's different," he said. "I didn't come from her stomach." In a quieter voice, he added tentatively, "She could go, too."

"What? Why would you think that?"

"My real mum left. Mum could go too after the baby comes. She might not want me either."

Mark had no immediate response, just lifted a hand to brush down over his own hair. Had all of these things been weighing on his young mind as the months went by, that Bridget would go as his own biological mother had?

"Martin," he said tenderly. "The woman that carried you in her stomach and had you at the hospital… she might have been your mother, but she's not your mum. Something went very wrong there. That is not because of anything that you did." Martin looked up at his father; his eyes were red and very teary. "Your real mum—who is downstairs waiting for me to take her to the hospital—loves you so much that she did the extra paperwork to make you as much her child as the baby she's about to have. Do you understand?"

Martin blinked, then nodded.

"We have had to make a lot of preparations for the baby's coming, and I'm sorry if that's ever made you feel we don't love you as much, because we do, and always will. Nothing could make us love you less. You know I'm not going anywhere. She's not going anywhere," Mark said. "Have I ever lied to you?"

He shook his head.

Mark's mobile began to chirp insistently with a message, with the tone he recognised as Bridget's. He looked to it. The message read:

OWWWWW PAIN NOW—HURRY PLS

"Martin, I have to get Mum's bag then get downstairs, and take her as soon as Alberta—"

His phone chirped again.

ALBERTA CANT COME. WHAT TO DO W MARTIN? CANT WAIT FOR PARENTS TO GET HERE. SURE THAT FRIENDS ALL OUT GETTING PISSED.

"Change of plan," said Mark decisively. "Get on your shoes. You get to be a part of this, too."

"Really?"

Mark nodded. Martin showed the first hint of a smile, then jumped down off of his bed to get the trainers that were most like Bridget's.

"I'll go say I really didn't mean it," said Martin, his expression haunted. "Will she believe me?"

"I think there's a very good chance," Mark said. Martin offered another, larger smile, then ran out of the bedroom so quickly that Mark called after him, "Slow down! Don't want to have to visit A&E, too."

Then Mark messaged Bridget back:

Martin incoming. Will explain details later. He's very sorry.

Then he added:

Hope three's not a crowd in the maternity ward.

When he got downstairs with the hospital bag, he found Martin holding Bridget's hand as she laid there, grimacing through a labour pain.

"She's strong," Martin said. "I had to hold the outside of her hand."

Mark leant down, asked quietly, "She believed you?"

He nodded.

"I knew he couldn't have meant it," Bridget said through clenched teeth. She then relaxed a little as the pain passed, then looked to Martin and smiled. "Well. Looks like you're going to be a big brother soon. Are you ready? We're going to need your help… I don't have a brother or sister, and neither does your dad. You're going to be the first of any of us to have this important responsibility."

Despite his outburst of just a few moments before, Martin offered a big smile, looking almost proud. "I think I can be a really good big brother."

…

Mark rang up both his parents and hers; while Mark's mother and father wouldn't be able to drive down that night due to driving licence restrictions, Mr and Mrs Jones said they'd be on the road in no time at all and would come directly to the hospital. Mark sat holding her hand as the contractions got closer and closer together; Martin sat in the room with them until Pam Jones arrived, and then she was able to watch over the boy when it was time to go into the delivery theatre.

Approximately nine hours after it had all begun, little Olivia Darcy made her appearance in the world at 5.30 a.m. on the tenth of November, weighing in at seven pounds, seven ounces.

"Great," Bridget said through the haze of her meds and her exhaustion, "already recording her weight for posterity."

This had made Mark chuckle, before he'd bent to kiss her on the forehead.

He was able to return to the room before she was, awakening her parents and Martin, who then looked to him expectantly.

Mark's tired grin said it all. "Mum and baby are doing just fine," he said, then relayed the vital birth statistics.

Pam jumped to her feet, clasping her hands momentarily. "Oh, Mark," she said. "So happy to hear." She reached for his hands. "You must be excited—oh, I mean exhausted, but, well, both."

He smiled wanly. He was tired, but also exhilarated. "Yes, both." He looked to Martin. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he said, then yawned. "I don't feel any different."

At Pam and Colin's quizzical looks, he explained, "He's a big brother now."

"Ahh," said Colin. "Such a happy day. Congratulations, son." He held out his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled Mark into a hug. "I'm so pleased to have a granddaughter, now, too," he said, his voice choking with emotion.

Mark drew back, patting Colin's shoulder. "I think they're going to have her rest for a while. I'll stay with them. If you want to go back to the house, take Martin and make something to eat, have a lie-down…"

"Certainly, Mark, we'd be happy to get things ready for your coming home."

"I want to see Mum first," declared Martin.

"Of course," Mark said. "They'll bring her and the baby here soon, and you can say hello." Mark crouched to be closer to Martin's eye level. "Have you been taking good care of Granny Pam and Grandpa Colin?"

He nodded, then whispered, "Am I doing all right so far?"

Mark felt emotion well in his throat, and he held his arms out to take his son into a tight hug. "So far, Martin, you're doing great."

9 December

It had been a hell of a month, but now, resting in the peace of the firelight with a sleeping babe in arms, a dozing eight-year-old, and an attentive husband was the best respite that Bridget could think of.

"Mark?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you think he…" She glanced down to Martin. "…is really over what was bothering him before Olivia came?"

Mark had, in the hours after the birth, once they were alone, told her all about the conversation that he'd had with Martin after the outburst. How the boy had been afraid that a new baby meant she would no longer need to have him around, would no longer love him, would leave him as his birth mother had done… it had broken her heart, but Mark had handled it expertly before they'd even left for the hospital, and Martin had seemed his usual self again in no time at all.

"I do," Mark said; Martin looked so sweet sitting on his father's lap, though compared to the baby, he seemed so much bigger and lankier than even a month before. "I've been keeping tabs. He's not been quite as adversarial."

Bridget nodded. "You're right," she said, reaching a hand to touch the boy's soft brown curls. "How much he wants to help with the little tasks."

Martin stirred, opening his eyes, smiling a little. "Are you talking about me?" he asked, sitting up straighter in his father's lap.

"Yes, we are," Mark said. "How wonderful you've been with Olivia."

He looked very proud. "I think she likes me," Martin said.

"Of course she does."

"She smiles and giggles when I talk to her," Martin said. He held out his hand and stroked her tiny fingers. "She's so small. I can't believe it."

"You were once that small," Mark said.

"Did I have light hair, too?"

"Nope," Mark said. "You've always had dark hair like me."

"And Olivia has light hair like our mum," said Martin, who got closer to Bridget, to look more closely at Olivia, who was waking. "Did I always have brown eyes too?"

"Actually," said Mark, "yours happened to be dark blue, too, like Olivia's."

"Wow. Really?" he asked.

Watching Martin wiggle his finger at Olivia, watching him pull faces and eliciting soft, happy sounds from her, filled Bridget's heart with joy. "Oh, look!" Martin said. "She grabbed my finger!"

"So she did," said Bridget, laughing lightly to herself. "Quite a grip for being a month old, eh?"

"She sure does. Wow." He looked up into Bridget's eyes; his happiness was evident in his smile. "I like being a big brother. She's pretty cool. She can even play with my cars when she's bigger."

A sure sign of acceptance.

…

The baby was in her bassinette, and Martin was tucked in for bed, fast asleep after a bit of reading by his dad. Bridget was in the en suite brushing out her hair when Mark came in behind her, putting his arms around her waist, nuzzling lovingly into her neck.

"Mmm," she said with a sigh, "that feels lovely."

"Good," he murmured. "That was my intention." He met her gaze through the proxy of the mirror. "The children are asleep, the littlest one for who knows how long. Up for a little cuddling?"

She smiled. Children. Who would have thought two years ago she would so soon be able to say she had children? He took her smile as an answer to his question, and began tracing his fingers over her stomach and hips. She did not correct the misapprehension, because she was indeed very much in the mood for cuddling.

He was gentle, tender, and caring, not going any further than they should so soon after Olivia's birth; being in his arms, held lovingly and reassuringly, being kissed within an inch of her life, was utter bliss.

"I'm going to have to rack this year up as a win," she said, sighing. "Two children, a husband, a new home… I've never been happier." She yawned. "Or, honestly, more knackered."

She felt him laugh low in his throat. "Totally understandable," he said. "Caring for a tiny, helpless being, albeit a very cute one… it's tiring."

"I don't know how anyone does it on their own," she said. "Mad respect." She raised her head to meet his eyes. "How did you do it alone, with Martin?"

"I brought on Alberta pretty early on," he said. "And I had the support of my mother and father."

"But they're up north. You must have felt overwhelmed on your own," she said.

"I did," he said. "Thank goodness we have each other this time 'round."

She smiled, then gave him a sweet kiss.

The end.