True Believer

She raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head playfully when he only winked. Her incorrigible pirate. He had made a gentle, devoted father and husband - not to mention a second deputy for she and David - but she was eternally grateful that it seemed he would never lose his mischievous smoulder or the ability to steal her breath from her lungs.

“Rum’s still your answer for everything, isn’t it?” she teased, sipping the lemonade and closing her eyes for a second afterward at the cool, sweet bliss.

“Not everything, Darling,” he replied, “but, as I first told you back in Neverland… it never hurts.”

The fiery attraction zinging wordlessly back and forth between them as they gazed at one another crackled palpably, making sweat break out over Emma’s skin for an entirely new reason. They might have stayed there in silent interaction, latched onto one another and all around them fading away, if David’s voice hadn’t called out, breaking in and demanding Killian’s attention. 

Shaking her head at his arched brow, his expression practically preening at her without words, as if to say, ‘See? Everyone knows that I can make anything better’, Emma snorted inelegantly at him, shooing him off toward his best buddy and reclining in her seat once more to enjoy her drink as he went.

She found, however, that though the immediate heat generated by his presence at her side did ease, she was still vibrantly aware of his presence, regardless of a bit of distance. As he and David talked animatedly back and forth, peering under the cover of the grill as if hamburgers and hot dogs were as serious a business as plotting how they would approach any of their previous foes, the corners of her mouth tipped upward, humored by just how close her father and her pirate husband had become - as unlikely as that might have once seemed. 

Beyond that observation, though, her laughter faded. Her cheeks flushed, completely separate from the outdoor heat, as she studied Killian’s long, lean frame with an almost embarrassing hunger. Thankfully, her glass hid the way her tongue played over her lips as her eyes drank in the ripple of his shoulder muscles playing across his back, easily seen through the simple gray T-shirt he wore. She’d missed his pirate leathers from time to time, but when her gaze dropped to take in the way his snug jeans accentuated his butt, and the dark wash denim lovingly encased his firm thighs and displayed all his assets to great effect, she almost moaned aloud, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood and repeating to herself that she was at a family gathering.

And then Killian - the smug bastard! - glanced up, catching her eyes across the yard, and winked at her knowingly. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking - what he was doing to her - and delighting in it. She was a puddle right there where she sat; melted on the spot as surely as ice cream in the sun. Emma couldn’t even bring herself to mind, especially not if she could imagine he would then use that tongue of his to clean up the mess…

Suddenly, a blast of cold water caught her by surprise, turned on her in a sudden, icy torrent, and jolting her from her heated reverie with a sharp cry. Turning quickly, she found Henry with the garden hose, now aimed at the space between them, but with a disgruntled look on his face as he stated blandly, “Morgan thought you looked overheated.”

Flanked on either side by his giggling younger sister and uncle, Henry’s words seemed true enough, but Emma found she couldn’t quite look her eldest in the face. He had clearly gathered the gist of her thoughts and been the one who decided to help her cool off. Part of her wanted to scold the three of them, with her clothes now soaked and clinging to her, her hair soggy and ruined, and more than a little sheepish, but there was no sense in begrudging them their lighthearted fun. She was too glad to have everyone together, her children grinning at her with mischief, yes, but also love, so that she could only shake her head and laugh as well. Her joy almost hung in the heavy air along with the summer haze. 

Wryly she managed, “Well, thanks to you all, I’m much cooler now, but I think I had better go change before we eat.”

She slipped off her flip-flops at the sliding door off the porch, hoping to keep her squelching footsteps from tracking water all through the house. She made her way upstairs quickly, toweled off, twisted her damp hair into a knot on top of her head, and changed into different clothes. She had just taken a glance in the mirror, decided she’d managed to salvage the damage well enough, and moved to return to the party when Killian slipped into the room with her, evil grin spreading across his face irresistibly.

“My, my, Love, you appear to have been rather soaked,” he purred salaciously. “I thought perhaps I might offer to help?”

Placing her hand on his chest and forcing herself not to hum and nuzzle into his firm chest, Emma pushed him away. “Oh, you’ve done quite enough already,” she assured, green eyes sparkling with mischief of her own. “And you’ll help me alright,” she added, allowing her curves to slide against his body as she moved past him to the door, “but you’ll have to wait until later. We’ve got company.”

A growl rumbled low in Killian’s throat, but he didn’t pull her back and turned to follow her. “I hardly think I can be blamed,” he murmured into her ear, “when you were the one clearly having such heated thoughts that our son felt the need to hose you down. But I can be patient, Wife… if you can.”

***~***~***~***~***

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed by pleasantly, even if there was anticipatory energy humming beneath Emma’s skin all the while. The way Killian would catch her eye at times had her smouldering from every nerve ending and impatiently counting the seconds until everyone else went home.

And yet, her heart was incredibly full at the simple moments along the way as well. She wouldn’t have traded an average, everyday, no villains or calamities involved family holiday for anything. The slight mist of unshed tears in her father’s eyes as she went by him at the grill, pulling her into a one-armed hug and cradling the back of her head in his free hand as he planted a kiss to her crown and then placing a juicy burger on her plate, whispering, “The best one for my Princess.” The smile of understanding exchanged with her mother as they both washed sticky popsicle from the little ones’ fingers and faces. The pure enthusiasm and love plain on Henry’s face as he came to give her a hug and offered to take her plate when their picnic was over, before he went to help his grandpa set up the fireworks. Emma felt she was on the strangest sort of emotional rollercoaster - back and forth between ardent desire and the joyful solace of the sort of holiday she had only ever dreamed of for most of her life.

So, if her smile was a bit tremulous when she watched and snapped pictures while Killian helped Morgan draw shapes in the air with sparklers, she knew he wouldn’t tell. And if she brushed a few stray tears from her cheeks as she gathered her little girl on her lap to watch the colors burst in the sky, she knew that if anyone else saw, they would understand. 

By the time they were seeing everyone out the front door and down the walk with arms laden down bearing containers of leftover burgers, potato salad, and cake, Emma felt limp with exhaustion from the heat and how she had been going since early that morning, but she also had a bone deep sense of satisfaction at how well things had gone. Looking back on it, a gentle smile on her face, it truly felt that they’d had as close to a perfect day as humanly possible.

Henry had slipped out as well, wishing her a good night as he scooped up his keys from the dish by the door, saying that Violet’s family celebrations were over, and he wanted to go see her and meet up with some of their other friends; Grace, Nicholas, and Ava among others, Emma presumed. She was just leaning against the closed door, her body slack and relaxed and awash in happy reverie, when she heard her husband’s steps entering the room from the kitchen.

“Henry went out as well?” he asked curiously, brow arched in question as she opened her eyes to look up at him.

“Yep, went to meet up with Violet and the rest,” Emma confirmed.

“Meaning we have the house to ourselves at last then, eh Wife?” he drawled, letting his tongue poke out to trace lasciviously along his lower lip. He knew the action drove her crazy, and he purposely held her gaze to take in the response she couldn’t hide. Even as Emma felt her pulse skyrocket, sweat breaking out at her hairline, eyes dilating, he simply sauntered toward her as if they possessed all the time in the world; just reeling her in.

A jerky bob of her head in an awkward nod was all the response Emma could muster for several seconds as she watched him prowl closer to where she leaned against the door. Her wobbling knees needing the support, if she were honest. He was every bit the predator; sleek and graceful as a panther stalking its prey, the pirate captain who had stricken terror in the hearts of challengers throughout centuries on the sea clearly evident through the milder, modern facade he had taken on for his life in Storybrooke. She cursed herself for stuttering, desire trembling inside as she managed, “At least for a little while we do.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” he prompted, swooping in to capture her lips in a kiss that nearly knocked her off her feet. They were both lost in the meeting, the frantic give and take of lips, teeth, and tongue, and clenching, wandering hands until they had to part for air. Only then did he add, “I do believe I promised to help you out of your earlier predicament, after all.”

His playful banter brought back a bit of her own feistiness from where he had almost made her dizzy enough with lust to forget herself. Tilting her head, she gave him a feigned critical eye, not that she actually possessed the willpower to deny him. “All in good time, Sailor,” she hedged, playfully tapping his nose as she slipped from his embrace, thwarting his clever maneuvering to get her to where he could tip her over the arm of the couch.

It was almost physically painful to slip from his arms, but she had a surprise in store for her husband, and she wasn’t going to be deterred, not this time. Steeling her resolve, Emma gave KIllian a gentle push toward the stairway, with an insinuating tease of her own. “Go on up and get yourself ready. I just have to grab something, then I’ll be right behind you.”

“See that you are, Minx,” he growled, that low rasp need sometimes added to his voice making her shiver despite being flushed with heat. He moved to do as she asked though, and Emma blew out a quick, steadying breath.

Turning on her heel sharply, Emma hurried into the kitchen and yanked open one of the drawers under the counter where she’d hidden her treasure. Her hand closed around the paper packaging, and she snatched her prize in a tight fist, anxious to reach her pirate upstairs and practically vibrating with need. She might have slammed the drawer closed again with a bit more hurried force than necessary, but no else was around to see or make her admit it.

She smirked at her own haste, taking the stairs two at a time and only pausing just outside their bedroom door to rip the package open quickly before stepping inside to find her waiting husband. Of course, even knowing almost exactly what he would do in her short absence, Emma nearly choked on her tongue at the sight that greeted her.

Killian clearly hadn’t wasted any time. He stood at the foot of their bed, turning at the sound of her arrival to show that he had already stripped off his shirt, his bare chest mesmerizing as her eyes took a detour down the trail of dark hair to where he had already unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and had hand and hook at his waistband, ready to push them down his legs. The insouciant smirk he sent her way belied how his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. It was comforting to know she wasn’t the only one affected, about to jump out of her skin in anticipation.

“Was this what you had in mind, Love?” he sassed, letting his hips lead as he moved forward to meet her and brushed his hook along the shoulder seam of her shirt, the question clear in his eyes.

Emma couldn’t speak without spoiling her plan, but nodded her assent without hesitation. The rip of fabric was the only sound in the quiet room until she felt the parted fabric slip off her as the ruined shirt fell to the floor. She pushed up to her toes to capture his mouth, much like he had done to her minutes earlier. Once their mouths opened and met, the handful of Pop Rocks candy she had downed began to crackle and snap, just as she had intended. Killian’s tongue had swept in to meet hers, but at the charged sensation, unknown to him and almost like an imagined spark of electricity, he jerked back in surprise.

She’d known what was coming, but the fizzing reaction made Emma flinch abruptly along with Killian. Giggling in spite of herself, having managed to take the man who had seen so much - introduced her to so much she had never experienced - completely unawares. It was a ridiculous and silly experiment, but she had known it would throw him off rhythm and allow her to tease him a little, just as he so often teased every bit of possible pleasure from her.

Killian overbalanced and stumbled as he reared away from the unexpected charge and fell on the bed, pulling Emma with him. She didn’t resist, falling atop him in a tangle of limbs and laughter, moving to cover his body with her own and tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling the dark tufts lightly - just the way he liked - to put his head right where she wanted him.

As she trailed kisses, nibbles, and licks up his straining neck toward his ear, sparks of both the popping candy and real electric attraction continued to sizzle along his skin from her questing mouth. Nearly panting at the effort it took to stay still and let her have her way, Killian gasped, “You really are… quite the little… firecracker… aren’t you, Swan?”

Grinning again, pleased as punch, before she leaned in to kiss him once more, Emma quipped, “Well, I did promise you that this holiday always ends with fireworks.”

He laughed right along with her, allowing her to tackle him, pin his wrists with enthusiastic hands. The heat ratcheted ever higher - laughter turning to moans and sighs that consumed them both. Soon the rest of their clothes went by the wayside, they were finally able to let the rest of the world go dark, and the fireworks between them were fully set alight.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx

@anmylica @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @grimmswan

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So, instead, she had strung some simple white lights up the stairway bannister, gotten Henry a small fiberoptic color-changing tree for his own room that he seemed fascinated with watching as he settled in bed each night, and they had gone out seeking brand new stockings, claiming the old ones were in bad shape, and treating him to hot chocolate after that job instead. Henry hadn’t seemed much phased by the alteration, and she fared much better only having to see the gaily twinkling tree when she bid her son goodnight. She felt nothing even close to the holiday spirit herself.

Dr. Jones - Killian - true to his word, had stayed with Henry that night in the hospital; though they must have seen her go by when she left the room where Graham’s body had lain and looked for her together until finding her in the chapel. He’d accepted her embarrassed apologies without asking for further explanations, and she had been grateful. It was clear Henry had already taken a liking to the man as well. Looking up at him as if they were already old friends, and pulling him into their mournful huddle when Emma had finally broken the awful news.

It had seemed wise, when the hospital recommended and Emma found her insurance would cover it for at least a couple months, to seeking counselling sessions with Killian - particularly since Henry was already comfortable with him. She wasn’t about to put herself on his couch and open up her own cache of trauma, but she wanted to be certain Henry was coping and healing properly, and though she couldn’t fully explain it, even to herself, she trusted Killian Jones in that regard. Henry had seen him for a first session not long after the funeral, and had been to Dr. Jones’ office twice more since then, once a week.

Just then, Henry wasn’t at home. He had gone to the sledding hill at his school with one of his friends. Their family had gladly offered to take him along, and Emma had been relieved to see his excitement bubbling over at the afternoon’s opportunity. Once he’d been properly bundled up and out the door, Emma had devoted a couple hours to researching and tracking down leads for one of her current cases - petty theft and stalking and other such misbehavior took no holiday vacation - she set herself to the task of making something hearty and warm for supper when Henry returned.

She had just checked on the tuna noodle casserole that she was pleasantly and surprisingly pleased with the appearance of (cooking had never been her strongest skill, but she had been giving it a concentrated effort in the last few years and was getting better) when she heard the doorbell ring out in the hall. Emma closed the oven door, reset the timer, and headed that way calling out to the unknown visitor that she was coming. It seemed too early for Henry yet, so she was curious just who she might find on the other side of the door.

Peering through the peephole, Emma saw that Killian Jones waited patiently in the second floor hallway, and though she couldn’t figure why he was there, she had no qualms in opening the door to greet him.

When she swung the door open, Killian smiled warmly, nodding his head slightly to acknowledge her hello. She could see that something was on his mind though, as the easy good humor of his usual smile didn’t stretch across his face, some unspoken concern evident in his eyes. Even as she beckoned him further into the hall, Emma felt a weight in her chest wondering what could be wrong.

Shrugging a bit uncertainly, she attempted a bit of a playful half-smile, trying to either gloss over or alleviate the anxious energy present between them. “Not that I’m not happy to see you,” she tried lightly, “but I hope you haven’t come to make a house call. Henry isn’t here.”

Killian managed a light huff of laughter at her weak joke, but was already shaking his head ‘no’, making clear that his concern was elsewhere. “No lass, I was hoping to speak to you. Henry told me of his sledding adventure, and I picked this afternoon with that in mind.”

Emma’s brow furrowed with confusion, “You did?”

Jones still seemed unnecessarily discomfited, dipping his head for a moment to study his scuffed boots and the color pattern of her carpet before releasing a sigh and seeming to square his shoulders. When he raised his face to meet hers once more, Emma was pinned where she stood, unable to move or look away, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. A sort of knowing skittered down her spine at the conflicting emotion in those blue depths; she wasn’t going to like what he had to say, that must be why he was so reluctant, and yet he seemed determined to speak regardless.

Opening her mouth in an attempt to stop whatever he was attempting, Emma shook her head but couldn’t force out anything audible.

To his credit, Killian Jones was a better shrink than any Emma had encountered in her youth, and he read exactly what she was trying to do as if it were printed across her face. “Aye, I did,” he exhaled, and then ploughed forward, needing to get it all out before he could rethink the action or she could interrupt. “I felt compelled to discuss my concerns with you after seeing Henry for a third visit. I hope you know, I don’t say any of this to upset you, Swan. It’s clear you care very much for your boy and want what is best for him, but…” he wet his lips, pausing for a moment to draw courage before continuing, “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t share that it seems Henry still feels under a pall. He opened up that he misses your usual live tree in the living room, and other yearly traditions. He also admitted that he hesitates to fully celebrate this Christmas, because he knows you are unhappy.”

Emma blinked rapidly as she stumbled back to lean against the kitchen island. Though Jones said he didn’t intend any affront, it was impossible not to go on immediate defense. Crossing her arms tightly across her chest like a shield, Emma knew the sharp pitch to her voice was unmistakable. She couldn’t help it. It stung thinking that she hadn’t been as careful, as convincing as she had thought, and that Henry had been worried by it. Her knee-jerk reaction was to lash out, and to flounder for a convincing argument that this man who had known them mere weeks must be mistaken. “What do you mean he can’t celebrate?! We’ve hung stockings and watched Frosty. He loves his new tree - it’s in his room!! Wouldn’t I know if he were missing something else? If he’s still feeling down, isn’t that to be expected? Graham hasn’t even been gone a month! You don’t need to dig up problems under the surface!”

Killian looked down again, biting back a quick retort as if trying to rein in his temper. It made Emma’s rising frustration even more volatile. “Don’t pretend you’re all patient and understanding! You come in here, acting like you know just what I should be doing for my own kid, or that you know what he needs better than I do. You don’t know me, or all that Henry and I have been through together. Three half hour sessions don’t make you the expert on my son!” She was getting worked up now; she could feel it. Yet, there didn’t seem to be a way to bring her emotions back under control. She felt cornered - both angry that he would question her parenting and sinkingly afraid that he might be correct. Henry was sensitive and attuned to others; he could easily have picked up that her heart wasn’t in the holiday, no matter how she had tried to disguise the fact. Her sweet boy would worry over her, along with shouldering his own sadness and loss. He wouldn’t want to ask for something he thought might hurt her. While she was internally castigating herself for not coming to the realization sooner, it only made her upset at the man standing before her grow. She knew, logically, that she wasn’t being fair to him, but logic didn’t have control in the moment.

Those blue eyes were fixed on her once more, looking pained but resolute, as Killian tried to follow her backward steps, even reached out as if to take her hand and attempt to soothe the reaction he had caused. soothe the reaction he’d caused.

But Emma sliced her hand through the air, narrowing her eyes in warning. “Don’t,” she stated firmly, stopping him in his tracks. “Whatever you’re about to say, Doctor,” the emphasis she put on the title was scathing, “save it.” Her face stopped the words on his tongue. He was the one momentarily frozen as she had been before. Her lowered voice hissing, “You’ve done enough,” brought him back into motion, only to flinch from the pain and anger equally clear as it radiated from her hunched form.  Before his eyes, the indignance that she’d held herself up with dissipated. The fire that she’d spat at him moments ago extinguished, and she shrank inward with it right before his eyes.

When he could catch his breath, Killian couldn’t help but fire back. He’d only been thinking of the young man who had already burrowed into his heart, but if this was how his concern was met, he was wrong to have tried. “Pardon me for thinking I could be of help,” he growled, words wrung from his throat grudgingly. “You may think I cannot possibly understand, but you don’t really know me either, Miss Swan. As it turns out, I’m actually quite perceptive… and your boy is hurting.”

As she shook her head that time, it seemed more like a frantic denial. No more words were said, as they both panted, trying to put their protective walls back in place. To see tears streaming down her cheeks pierced right through his defenses again, more than it had any right to. 

Seeing, at least in the moment, that there was nothing else he could say or do, Killian bowed his head, admitting defeat. “I’ll see myself out,” he murmured.

And when the door clicked closed behind him, Emma finally discovered that her tears had not yet run dry.

~~*~~

Killian found himself aimlessly walking the city streets for some time that evening. After leaving Emma’s place, he was too worked up to go home and sit alone, reading or watching television as he usually did. He had nowhere to be, but perhaps he could burn off his excess energy and tame his ricocheting thoughts. The lights strung up in store windows and along the sidewalks twinkled merrily, but none seemed to glisten as brightly as the silent tears on Emma Swan’s face in his mind’s eye - tears that came in response to his words.

He still didn’t think he had been in the wrong as a counseling professional, and simply as an adult who cared about him, Killian had needed to share his concerns over Henry’s mindset with his mother. There had been the distinct possibility that his words would not go over well, but it had seemed what he had to do all the same.

Nevertheless, he had caused hurt - intentional or not. As he had seen the emotions flash across Emma Swan’s face, it had suddenly driven home to him a deeper layer he had not realized. She spoke up with a show of anger, claiming offense that he would question her parenting or wonder if Henry were missing something, but beneath that outward reaction, and under the obvious layer of grief and sadness, he recognized something else, an emotion he’d glimpsed in her once before, but dismissed as improbable and all in his imagination. If he’d had to label it, he’d called it guilt. Still, just as before, that hardly made sense. Could she be blaming herself for the loss of her love somehow? Why would she? And, if so, was the poor woman punishing herself, feeling she should not be allowed to move on and find happiness again?

Though she was clearly not about to open up to him anytime soon, Killian Jones had already long since deduced that Emma Swan was a woman of strong self-sufficiency who had clearly been made a survivor by Fate’s often capricious vagaries. Her mistrust of his chosen profession was also telegraphed in her so clearly she might as well have said it out loud. He might not know the details of her history - as she had so forcefully reminded him - but he could not help but wish for the ability to help, and that she would let him. That glimpse of pain and guilt had brought him new focus and understanding; his goal now clear. There would be little healing under bitter self-condemnation… and whether she now wanted anything to do with him or his advice, Killian knew all too well how misplaced blame weighed a person down. For the sake of his young charge, and his mother, he could find a way.

As he was pondering all this, Killian noticed that he stood outside a small shop still open despite the later hour; an old fashioned looking shop of decor and handicraft items. His feet had turned to enter almost before his mind gave signal to do so. A bell chimed over the door as he stepped inside, while cinnamon and cloves pleasantly invaded his senses. His lips twitched upwards despite the deep thoughts engrossing his attention, and he gladly gave into the full smile and the warmth spreading in his chest at the friendly greeting offered by the gray-haired woman at the register who looked up over her glasses to greet him upon his arrival.

He assured her he was merely browsing and began to meander the crowded but charming aisles, drawn to all the engaging and unique items filling every available nook and cranny, even if he wasn’t yet sure exactly what had so definitely pulled him to this place in particular. Each new display he encountered was delightful and entertaining, catching the eye in a simple but irresistible manner.

Killian turned the corner into the final row, toward the back of the small shop, where a fully decked Christmas tree was lit and stood shimmering in all its finery from a cozy alcove, when he saw it. The very thing he needed without even knowing it was what he’d been seeking. The perfect gift to present as a peace offering the next time he saw Emma Swan - if she would accept it from him at all. Dangling from an upper branch, delicately catching the lights and sending dazzling rainbowed reflections out across the room, was a crystal swan, as graceful and lovely as Henry’s mum, in spite of the woman’s added fierceness.

Reaching up to remove the fragile ornament from its perch, Killian was momentarily taken back to the brightly lit, small but well-loved cottage of his youth. He could see his own mother beaming at him as they’d decorated a tree together while the snow fell heavily outside. He had not known it then as he’d sat curled beside her on the sofa with hot apple cider and snickerdoodle cookies while admiring their handiwork, but he was not meant to have many more Christmases with her. It would be years before he could properly navigate his own anger and grief at how quickly sickness had taken her and left Killian and his older brother alone in the world; even longer before he could fully appreciate the prophetic wisdom of the words she had whispered to him that night in the golden glow of that fragrant spruce tree. “Enjoy the moments like this one, my Killy.” The love in her eyes made his younger self feel like the most important person in the entire world, so much so that he didn’t even mind her use of the nickname he had recently begun to find rather childish. She’d ruffled his dark hair that matched her own with tender fingers as she continued, “We must make the most of the good times we are given in this life; they can be fleeting and far between, but they make all the rest of it worth the struggle.”

The memory faded away, back into the haze of his past, as Killian cradled the small object in his hand and moved back to the front to purchase the swan. He thanked the shopkeeper genuinely, complimenting her lovely collection, and she winked playfully in response, almost as if she bore some sort of Mrs. Claus magic or perhaps just a hint of extra knowing, “Thank you, Dear. You come back anytime. We aim to have just the thing a person needs.”

A bit dumbfounded, Killian nodded his agreement and walked a bit dazedly out of the store, clutching the bag that contained his purchase tightly… like the rare gift that it was. He felt rejuvenated, back on course. He would at least have the opportunity to see Henry again, and he now had an offering as well, to go with a sincere apology for any offense he might have caused despite his noble intentions. If nothing else, he would have one more chance to help Emma Swan see that she deserved a second chance at happiness - and that a person had to live and enjoy the time he or she does have.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssecretsanta2020 @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @optomisticgirl

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