Everyone wore black as they gathered around the grave. A tiny headstone was above the tiny grave, reading

Rose Marie Hopper

January 21, 2013 - January 21, 2013

Good-night my angel, time to close your eyes

Ruby and Archie stood nearest, both openly weeping. Their daughter, their only daughter lay in the silver casket, a bouquet of roses and baby's breath resting on the closed lid. Archie's arm was around his wife as she sobbed into his shoulder. He tightened his grip on Ruby and pressed a kiss to her hair. A soft cooing from his other arm made him look down. He smiled then, at the only thing that could have possible made him smile on a day like this. Wrapped in a blue blanket, baby Dean Samuel Hopper blinked quietly up at his father. Archie pressed a wet kiss to his son's forehead, messing up the carefully combed mop of brown hair.

The boy had been born six minutes before his sister. They'd been so happy for those six minutes, so excited. Ruby had cried happily when their son took his first breath. Archie'd been so proud, felt like he'd burst with the intensity of his emotions.

Twins. They'd been ecstatic. They'd tried for a baby for almost a year, carefully waiting each month before he would eventually pat Ruby on the back with reassuring words as she leaned into him, eventually growing used to the disappointment. They'd always sat down on the couch and watched slasher movies together before they fell asleep to other people's screams of pain. Then had come the day when the test had two lines, not one. Ruby had run out of the bathroom and thrown her arms around him. He'd spun her around and they'd laughed. How strange that thought felt now, the idea of laughter. How alien.

Later, at the doctor's, they'd heard two heartbeats. Archie remembered that moment well, that moment when he'd looked at Ruby in shock. She'd simply stared at him and he had stared at her while the nurse smirked. Twins was beyond anything he'd ever hoped for, more than he thought he could ever have. And now, it was more than he would ever have. Rose had died mere moments after birth. The doctors had tried everything, but they couldn't get her breathing. She hadn't cried when she was born. Archie had crushed Ruby's hand as they watched in silent horror as their daughter didn't move, didn't make a sound. Later, when it was over, the doctors explained that a malformation of the girl's sinuses had prevented her from breathing in the open air. There was nothing they could have done and Archie couldn't find it in his heart to be angry. He was too hollow, too empty for anger. The sorrow seemed to have filled him up.

The funeral passed in a blur of solemn words and condolences. Ruby never left his side and his arm never left her shoulder. They clung to each other, trying not to make it obvious how much they hurt. Archie felt that if he let Ruby go, he'd never find her again and he'd be drifting through space. The way she stayed close and practically burrowed into his side beneath his coat said she felt the same. They went home that afternoon to a quick dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Ruby fed Dean and handed him to Archie. He knew she loved their boy and loved to be close to him, but he also understood that sometimes it was painful to know you only held half of a whole. As they walked up the stairs, they both carefully avoided looking at the nursery. It had been a financial stretch to provide baby necessities for both a boy and girl, but they had done it with a little bit of luck. As Archie passed the pastel-painted door, Dean sleeping in the crook of his arm, he dully realized they would have to take half of it back. He thought back to a short story he'd read once, and tried to keep his lip from wobbling.

"Baby shoes: Never worn."