#*future spoby

It is only that night when he talks to her, only because she initiated first. “What did you do with them!” she demands, her voice hoarse and dry. She is not quite yelling, but her voice is not quite at its normal volume. “I know you took them, Toby!” she hisses, getting close to him.

His hard exterior doesn’t break. He stands tall, his shoulders pushed back. She repeats herself, demanding that he give back what’s hers. He has stolen them, she is sure. He is the only one who has been in the house. He is the only one who knows where she keeps them.

“You aren’t getting them back,” he states, his voice cold, but steady.

“They’re prescribed, you idiot!” she yells, clenching her fists together. He flinches at her words, but doesn’t say anything to acknowledge them. They don’t usually speak like this; even in their most horrible fights, they never insult one another. And there has been a rift between them for awhile; Toby’s been sleeping in the guest bedroom. They barely speak; Spencer can’t even remember the last time they touched on purpose. She knows it’s her own fault, and sometimes she feels bad, but she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to fix her mistakes; she doesn’t even know if she cares enough to. She is still here, isn’t that good enough? “Look, I’m sorry,” she steps away, her voice not any warmer, but at least quieter, “but I need them.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t give them to you! The doctor said to take them when necessary. You take them every night.”

“They’re necessary every night!” she yells once more, losing her patience. “Just give them back to me, Toby.”

“I’m not giving them to you. Not until you see someone.”

“I don’t need to see anyone,” she grits her teeth. “I just need those pills.”

“Yes, you do,” he fires back in a stern voice. “You’re not well, Spencer.”

She glares at him, her nostrils flaring. How dare he!

She stomps back to their room—her room, crashing in her bed—their bed. And then the tears come.

Because she knows he is right. Because she feels awful. Because she is guilty.

He deserves better. Deserves more than the mess she is, and has always been. Why hasn’t he divorced her? He could easily win custody for their daughter. Their daughter, whom he had to send away for the weekend with her parents because Spencer creates such an unhealthy environment. He didn’t say that, but she knows it is true. She knows he is terrified of leaving their daughter alone with her. And she knows he should be.

She knows that her family deserves better. She is such an unfit mother. She promised she would never be like her own. She vowed that she would love her child. And she does, she loves her daughter more than anything, but she doesn’t know how to show it; not anymore. And the same goes for her husband.

She thinks back to a conversation she had with Toby. They were in their mid/early-twenties. It was before they got married, before they were anything but boyfriend and girlfriend. They had been dating for eight years then and still had yet to have a conversation about children, and what they wanted out of the relationship. When you’re in high school, you don’t talk about stuff like that, because well, you’re in high school. Sure, Spencer thought she would be with Toby forever in high school— if both of them survived those dreadful years, that is— but never did she think to bring up the future. She couldn’t think about the future, not when she wasn’t even sure she would make it past eighteen. And then college came, and the topic of marriage and children still seemed too premature. Then somehow, eight years passed, and they still hadn’t discussed it.

It was their anniversary, and Spencer to this day, doesn’t understand why he brought it up that day. Why ruin a perfect night? Maybe he didn’t think that it would ruin anything; maybe he thought that she wanted what he wanted. She isn’t sure, it doesn’t really matter. He asked her if she saw children in their future, and she knows that he didn’t include marriage into the equation, because they have talked about marriage before. This was a completely different thing.

She remembers feeling small at the time, because she knew their answers would not correspond. Why would someone who doesn’t want kids, ask if the other person wanted kids? She supposes it was possible, but Toby always made jokes about kids. Even in high school.

If we had a baby, what would it look like?

A new born with a six pack.

She told him that she didn’t want kids, and once she got that out, she felt more confident about it. She went on to tell him why she was wary of having children. The world was so horrible; both of them had gone through such turmoil, why would they want to bring life forms, life forms with their DNA, with their hair, and their eyes; life forms that they would have an unconditional love for, into this horrible, god forsaken, world?  He knew as well as she did that the world was full of monsters; that life in its self was just another circle of hell; that happiness only came and went.

“So, we don’t have kids,” he told her.

“but you want kids,” she responded.

“I never said that,” he replied.

“You didn’t have to.”

And it went on like this for awhile. Toby eventually gave in, saying that yes, he wanted kids. But, not if it wasn’t with her.

And Spencer fought with him, because she loved him; because she wanted him to be happy; because she wanted him to have the life he dreamed of. But he had a rebuttal to each of her points. He loved her, too. He would be happy as long as he was with her. The life he dreamed wouldn’t be existent, without her.

It went on for awhile, and Spencer ended up bawling. She didn’t mean to cry, it just happened.

“I don’t want you to wake up one day, twenty years from now, and regret staying with me. I don’t want you to have to give up wanting children for me; you shouldn’t have to! And I don’t want to feel guilty, five years from now, and do something I don’t want to do!”

In the end, Spencer caved, because how could she ever let Toby go? Toby, her one true love? Toby, the only person who has ever understood her? Toby, her safe place to land? It was impossible not to be selfish. Not to give him up.

But as irony would have it, two weeks later she found out that she was pregnant. She was pregnant before the conversation even occurred.

She had debated to abort the thing. She didn’t know how to be a mother! They weren’t even married (even though they practically were.) How the hell was she supposed to go through with it?

In the end, she decided to keep it. Because it was fair to Toby; because deep down she knew she would never be able to abort it, not without carrying the guilt on her conscience for the rest of her life.

And it was okay, because eventually she got over her fears of parenthood. She still feared their child would have to live a life that resembled their own, but Toby assured her that that wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let that happen, and although she knew that he had no control over how the world treated their child, it calmed her.

They ended up getting married when she was four months pregnant. The pre-wedding shenanigans were rushed, but it was actually very nice, and she finally got to call Toby her husband; it felt good, no— great. She didn’t understand why they waited so long to tie the knot.

Most of the pregnancy was a mess, but she was happy. She was ecstatic, actually. She had been happy with Toby before, but the happiness she felt then did not compare to the happiness she had been aquatinted with now. She loved her husband, and she loved their unborn-child, and she loved her life.

The nine months passed pretty quickly. And then on, June 23th, their daughter, Elizabeth “Ellie” Marion Cavanaugh was born. And Spencer’s happiness propelled into something much greater. She had never been happier than she had been on that very day. She had been so happy on her wedding day, so overjoyed during the course of the pregnancy—she didn’t know it was possible to top that happiness. But somehow, it happened. And it continued to happen. She was happy. Toby was happy. Their daughter was happy. Life was good; excellent, fantastic.

And you know what they say, the higher you are, the greater the fall.

It was about five months ago when it happened. It was April. Their daughter was five, would be turning six in two months.  They were trying to have another child. It seemed odd, really. Spencer never thought she would be trying to impregnate herself, but there she was, hoping, and praying to whoever was listening, to be blessed with another seed. They had been trying for almost a year. Eleven months. It didn’t seem possible. Spencer was only thirty, would be thirty one in a few days. Lots of women had children in their thirties, and she was in her early thirties. She wasn’t even in her thirties when they started to try—she was twenty nine!

There was something wrong, and they both knew it. They both made appointments.

Toby was fine. Spencer was not.

The doctor told her that she had very few eggs; that it had to have been some kind of miracle for her to have gotten pregnant all those years before.

Now, Spencer didn’t believe in miracles. But she did believe in torment. She believed in universal torment; that the universe was a finicky, little, bastard.

She kept the news to herself for awhile, not wanting to tell Toby. She had lied to him, telling him that the doctor still had not gotten her test scores. She didn’t know if she kept the secret for her own sake, or for his. She didn’t know who she was protecting; all she knew is that she was devastated.

Eventually she told him, because she had too. She couldn’t keep lying—test scores don’t take an eternity to arrive.

He comforted her, soothed her, tried to take away all her pain. He shouldn’t have. Why did she get to be upset? She had the news for weeks at hand, he just found out. It was her fault that he wouldn’t be able to have any more children with his genes. But he didn’t get upset, he just wrapped his arms around her, and then she began to bawl.

It was like that for awhile. They didn’t sleep much that night.

The nights went on like that for awhile. Spencer crying, Toby comforting her. But that stopped, soon enough.

Spencer had convinced herself that brining another life into this, cruel, awful, terrible, world would be a bad thing. She decided that this world was no place for a child. She went back to her old way of thinking. The world was unkind. It treated people so poorly.

Now, these thoughts—this philosophy, wasn’t that dangerous. It was what she believed up to her pregnancy—she was fine then. And she probably would have been fine if the thoughts stopped there, if she hadn’t gone any further into the abyss, but she did. She fell in, and there was no way of saving her.

Her past somehow crept up on her; all the hardships and turmoil she went through in high school, reached her. It happened so long ago—over a decade had passed since that ordeal. It was so arbitrary. So much had happened since then. That was no longer her life.

But that didn’t stop the horrible thoughts. The panic attacks. The anxiety. The nightmares.

She had always struggled with the nightmares. Always struggled with the panic attacks. They would come and go, reminding her off her terrible, awful past. But they wouldn’t stay for long, they would just pop in and say hello. Never did they last months.

By late June, she was a completely different person. She was cold; distant. She stayed quiet most of the day. Most of the panic attacks stopped, and the doctors had given her sleep medication for her insomnia. But this feeling of hopelessness, and despair, kept with her. She didn’t want to tell anyone. Why should she tell anyone? Why was she even feeling these things? It didn’t make sense. She didn’t understand.

She tried to put on a smile for her daughter, but it was hard. It was really hard. When her birthday came around, Toby had done most (read: all) of the planning. Normally, Spencer would do it. She lived for stuff like that, but Toby could tell his wife was not in the mood, that she didn’t have the charisma. Spencer didn’t even know it was her daughter’s birthday on her daughter’s birthday. When she woke up, it just felt like another, bad, day.

At that time, Toby and her were still on good terms. Kind of, anyways. At least, she wasn’t snapping at him, and calling him an idiot. They still slept in the same bed. She still tried to be nice to him.

“Spencer,” she heard his voice. He was rubbing her arm to wake her up. “Spence,” he said again, a little more loudly.

He used to kiss her awake. Used to bring out his Polaroid camera and take pictures of her sleeping, which would evidently piss her off. But it was nice. It was when they were happy.

She heard him sigh, “Spencer, its Ellie’s birthday.”

This made her open her eyes. Her mouth twitched a little, her eyebrows furrowing. How did she not know?

“It is?” she questioned, staring up at her husband, her voice small.

He nodded. His eyes, for a second, shifted to the piece of hair that covered her eyes. She knew he wanted to brush it back, but he didn’t. He didn’t because they didn’t do anything like that anymore.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“What time is it?”

“Seven,” he replied. They—meaning Toby, nowadays—usually woke her up at 8.

“Oh, okay…” Spencer said, distraught.

Spencer managed to put on a smile for her daughter, managed to sing along to the song, and laugh at her daughter’s reaction to all the presents she got. She and Toby even kissed, which was nice. It was a good day. She went to sleep that night without taking a pill. But that good day was just that. A good day. It didn’t change anything. In fact things got much worse from that day.

By mid July, Toby was sleeping in another room. She isn’t even sure how it happened, really. She thinks she might have kicked him out after saying something that upset her. Something that shouldn’t have unsettled her, but did.

Spencer doesn’t know when her tears stopped, but they did. She also doesn’t know how long she stares at the ceiling, unmoving, paralyzed. She tends to fall into these trances a lot, nowadays.

She is surprised when she hears her husband’s voice.

“Spencer,” he says.

She doesn’t say anything. She stares at the ceiling.

A few minutes later his voice comes alive again. Once again, he surprises her. Has he just been standing there the whole time?

But, once again, she doesn’t say anything, mostly because she doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? Sorry that she has always been, and always will be, a pill popper? She was like this in high school. It is ironic, really. She took pills to stay awake in high school, and now she takes pills to stay asleep.

She hears him sigh, “I should have...I should have reached out to you sooner. I should have seen the signs. I shouldn’t have waited this long.”

He sounds pained, which only makes her frown, and her eyes water, because even if it doesn’t seem like she loves him, she does. In fact, he is half of the reason she is here. Every time a suicidal thought entered her mind, she thought of his reaction. She thought of her daughter. Her daughter, who would have to grow up without a mother, her daughter who would have to go through what Toby went through—losing his mother. And she wouldn’t do that to them. She wouldn’t leave them. She may be a bad mother; a bad wife, but she will never be that selfish.

“You’re right, I am an idiot. I am, and I know it. I know what the signs look like, I know what someone looks like when there…” his voice dies off.

She wonders if he has forgotten her presence.

She hears a loud thump—probably him hitting the wall or something—and a groan shortly follows, then a sniffle, “I just, God. I’m such an idiot.”

She stares at the ceiling, but it is beginning to blur. Her throat is beginning to close. Her breathing is beginning to go rapid.

“I just, I don’t, I don’t like being demanding, Spencer. I don’t. Especially with you, but this is important. And I’m sorry; I’m sorry that I didn’t push you before. I thought if I gave you time…that maybe you would, somehow, just get better on your own, but that’s not happening, and I’m supposed to be there for you—and I haven’t. In sickness and in health, but…” his voice trails. She can hear him, hear him pacing. She can see him, too. His voice is breaking, “and look at me, now? What am I doing…”

She isn’t sure if she was supposed to hear that because of how quiet it was, but she did. She heard it, perfectly. In fact, she doesn’t know if she is supposed to hear any of this. He seems to be talking more to himself than her.

She stares at the ceiling still, wishing she could comfort him. Wishing she could be there for him. If Toby wants to talk about vows, she is sure she has broken half of them. For the past eight months she has been so self engrossed. She doesn’t even know what is happening in his life. She has no idea how he feels about anything. She doesn’t know how their daughter feels. Are they both okay? Do they fall into these trances, too? She hopes they don’t. She hopes Toby is taking care of their daughter. She knows he is, though. She knows he is being a single dad, while she is just being, broken.

She wants, she wishes she could tell him that she knows he is right, but she doesn’t know how.

“God, I just. What happened?” she hears him again, in that quiet, small, tender voice that resembles an inner thought, that somehow tumbled out.

“I’ll leave you alone now, I know you want to be alone,” he murmurs, in a louder tune. “I’ll leave you alone,” he says again, sniffling. And then he begins to walk away.

She doesn’t want him to walk away.

“Wait,” she beckons, sitting up. Her voice is so small, so ridiculously quiet that she isn’t sure how Toby heard her. He is looking at her wide-eyed. Those eyes of his—those precious, baby blue eyes of his—gaping at her. She doesn’t know why she told him to wait. Wait do to what? She doesn’t know what she is doing. She just wants him here. She doesn’t want to be alone. She has wanted to be alone for so long. Wanted to be in isolation for so long, but she wants him, right now. She wants someone to hold her while she cries. She knows he can’t make it better. He knows he can’t make it better. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hold her. That she can’t cry to him about how much she is hurting inside. Except so much has happened between them—it’s been so long since they’ve been together. How is she supposed to just ask him to hold her, when she doesn’t even remember his smell? “Please,”  is all she can say. All she can ask. And she hopes it is enough, because she doesn’t know what else she is capable of.

He steps forward, taking small, hesitant steps toward her. Her heart bends and twists and breaks, afraid he won’t understand. Won’t comprehend the question in her eyes.

But he does. He always does. A lot is broken between them. A lot has been damaged, but he can still read her. He still understands. They still have that unspoken connection.

He is wrapping his arms around her, and she instantly erupts into tears. He holds her tightly, so tightly it almost hurts, but she is glad. It makes it more real. He is here. He is holding her. The ache for him is starting to die down. She has him. He is with her.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to say through her sobs.

“Sh, no. It isn’t your fault,” his voice is so quiet. Still, and caring. It is smaller than it was before, when he was pacing back and forth, in their room. It is only for her. Only for her to hear.

“I’ve been so awful,” she sniffles. Another sob escapes her. She shakes her head, “I’m—I’m so horrible.”

“No, it’s no you’re fault,” he says again, his voice once again quiet. Quiet and reassuring.

“I should have gone this morning,” she relinquishes.

“It’s okay. I can make another appointment,” he murmurs. He isn’t mad, or annoyed, or irritated. Or stern; just caring, just soothing, and heartening.

She sniffles, shaking her head, “that’s not the point.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats himself.

She looks at him—she needs to look at him. She needs to see his face up close. She needs to see the way his eyes move, the way his forehead wrinkles, the little bit of stubble that coats his face. She needs to see the promise in his eyes—the comfort they bring her.

“It’s okay,” he promises in a whisper, again.

She can tell he isn’t lying because his eyes stay still. They don’t waver, or flicker, they are unmoving.

“I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I should have scheduled you an appointment a long time ago.”

One of his hands comes to her face, his thumb sweeping away the dew beneath her eyes, “I should have tried harder.”

She shakes her head, “there’s nothing you need to apologize about, Toby.”

He doesn’t try to fight her, but she knows he wants to. She knows he feels guilty, but he doesn’t push it. Instead he presses his lips to her forehead, keeping them there for awhile. She had almost forgotten the feeling.

He pulls away after awhile, “I love you, so much. I’m so sorry.” There are tears in his eyes.

She shakes her head, but she doesn’t have the energy to fight back. She doesn’t want to fight with him, anyways. They’ve been doing far too much of that.

“Will you stay here tonight?” she asks in a restrained voice.

“Of course,” he nods. “Anything you want,” his voice is warm. He brings her into his arms again, holding her so tightly; she can tell that he is not just holding her because of her own needs, but his, too.

Spencer starts going to therapy. She takes pills for depression, and has certain therapy exercises that she is directed to do each night. It is hard, hard to come back to life; hard to awake from her corpse, but she does it; slowly, but surely, she does it. She is smiling again, enjoying life again. There are days where she feels like isolating herself; feels numb, and empty, but she gets through them, she gets through them because she knows that these feelings are just her mind playing tricks on her. She gets better. She rises from the dead.

By the time January rolls around, she doesn’t even need pills. She still goes to therapy, but only monthly. She is almost back to her normal self. The bad days come less and less. She feels happy.

She spends time with her daughter and husband, her family; makes up for all the time she had lost to her depression.

 Her daughter is delighted to have her mom back again. Ecstatic, is a better word.

“Mommy can we build snow mans?” the little girl asks, who has been staring out the window for a good ten minutes. That was good for a six year old.

“Men, honey,” Spencer corrects her daughter.

“Men?” her daughter looks at her, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.

“It is not mans, it is men,” her mother laughs.

“Why?” her daughter questions. The why game; her daughter’s favorite game. “When you make things plural, don’t you add a S?”

“And, um, not everything. Like, moose for example. If there was more than one moose, you would still just say moose.”

“Not mooses?” the little girl inquires.

“Nope,” she shakes her head.

“I don’t get it! Why isn’t it the same?” her daughter demands.

“It just isn’t.”

“But why?”

Spencer sighs, wishing she just let it go. “Wanna go build snow men?”  she asks.

“Hey! You aren’t getting away with that! I know you’re trying to, what’s the word,” she looks up, trying to conjecture the word. “I know you are trying to…” the little girl begins again, “you know what? I’ll let it go, but only because I wanna go build snow men,” she steps down from the chair.

“Hey, wait El, you need to finish your lunch.”

“I don’t like carrots,” the girl whines.

“Then, I guess you don’t like snow men. They have carrot noses.”

The little girl’s copper eyes go wide, which makes Spencer laugh.

“You better eat them; you don’t want the snow men’s feelings to get hurt.”

“Wait…snow mens?” the little girl’s face scrunches up, “I thought it was just men?”

“I was using it possessively.”

“What?” the little girl gives her a look of incredulity.

“You know what,  I’ll eat the carrots,” Spencer tells her daughter, sighing, but smiling. “You just go collect everything you need for the snow.”

The little girl’s face beams up, “really?”

She nods.

“You’re the best mommy in the whole, wide, world!”

“Really? The whole world? That’s pretty big…” Spencer observes, knitting her eyebrows.

“The whole space!” The girl exclaims, stretching out her arms.

“Wow,” Spencer laughs, “I must be pretty great then, huh?”

“Mhm,” the girl nods.

“Well, you,” she pokes the girl in the stomach, “are the best daughter in the whole, wide, world.”

Her daughter giggles, “what about daddy?” she asks.

“He’s the best daddy in the whole, wide, world,” she pokes her again, producing a giggle from her daughter.

“We must be a pretty awesome family, then,” the little girl observes.

“You bet we are!”

She giggles again.

“I’m really happy that you aren’t sad, anymore.”

Spencer’s broad smile dies down into a faint one, “me too, baby doll, me too.”

The little girl hugs her. Holding her tightly. Spencer wraps her arms around her, smiling. She is so, very, happy. She is happy.

And she is even happier when she hears the front door opening, along with her husband’s voice. He grins at the sight of the embraced pair. “I got to leave work early,” he explains to his wife, and daughter, who doesn’t really care; she’s just happy to see him.

She runs over to him, “you can make snow men with us now!” the little girl exclaims.

He picks her up, “aren’t I lucky?”

“Mommy told me that they are called men instead of mans, when it’s plural.”

“This is true,” he notes.

She smiles.

“Are you gonna build snow men with us?” she asks, impatient and eager for an answer.

“Yeah, of course I am. And my snowman is going to dominate your snow man.”

She glares at him, her voice cold, “we’ll see about that.”

He chuckles, setting her back down on the floor. She runs off to gather her snow clothes.

 “So competitive that one…” he shakes his head. “Where on earth does she get it?” he mocks, smiling at his wife.

“You know you give me a lot of crap, but ‘my snowman is going to dominate your snow man’ ? That’s not exactly passive.”

He laughs, “I just like aggravating her. Just like I do, you,” he sing songs, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’re very cold,” she observes, cupping his face.

“Well, it is pretty cold, outside, so.”

“I told you to dress warmly this morning, and what did you do? You went out in a sweatshirt,” she shakes her head, clucking her tongue, smacking her lips together.

“I know that you’ll always be here to warm me up,” he murmurs, leaning towards her.

“Smooth, you are, Cavanaugh, smooth, you are…” she hums, their lips meeting for a tender kiss.

“Feeling warmer?” she whispers.

“So much,” he responds.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she pulls away from him. “You have a dominating snowman to build, remember?”

He snickers, “it will be dominating.”

She rolls her eyes, “stay here. I don’t want you tracking snow through the whole house. I’ll go get your snow stuff.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but it goes away so fast, that Spencer cannot even read it.

“Okay,” he nods.

She gives him one last peck before trailing off to get their snow stuff.

While their daughter has played in the snow already, Spencer and Toby have not. They have not taken their snow supplies out of the boxes, yet. They are still stored away in the basement, in boxes.

And when Spencer pulls Toby snow suit from its summer home, she sees them; the pills. Her sleepy pills.

She understands his—whatever was in his eyes, now. He knew. At first she is annoyed, because she has been fine, a look of—whatever it was—should not be passing through his eyes, but he didn’t stop her from coming down here. He trusted that she wouldn’t take them.

She has to admit hiding them here was clever. It was summer at the time; this would have been the last place she looked.

He definitely was not being an idiot.

She picks the pills up, and goes to meet Toby and her daughter.

They build snowmen; Toby makes his dominating one, and they ask Spencer whose is better. Spencer votes for her daughter, mostly because she wants to watch Toby lose. She really has never forgiven him for beating her at scrabble. Toby ultimately agrees that his daughter’s snow man is better though. Except it isn’t a snow man, it is a snowwoman. That made Spencer grin widely. Her daughter is seriously the best.

They go back in, and have hot chocolate. The day is perfect. Spencer is so glad for Toby; so glad for her daughter. They both bring her so much joy. She loves them both, so much; it is a little overwhelming at times, in all honestly. She never thought she would be this happy again. But she is; she is happy.

Later that night, when their daughter is sound asleep, and moon is out, Spencer brings up the pills.

“I found them.”

“Found what?” he plays dumb.

She gives him a look, rolling her eyes, and bringing the pills out from her sweat shirt pocket. She sets them on the table, and Toby stares at him. Another look crossing his face. It is fast, but she catches it. Despair.

“How should we dispose of them?” she inquires, taking in a deep breath, and setting her clasped hands on the table.

He looks up at her, a proud look coming across his face.

“I love you,” he tells her.

“I love you, too.”

“I really, really love you,” he goes on. “Like, really, love you. Spencer, you don’t understand how much it hurt to see you like that. I didn’t know what to do, I—I should’ve done more,” he shakes his head, his eyes drifting away for a second, but they come back to her almost instantly, “I should’ve…” he continues.

“Sh,” she hushes him, “I’m all better now, It doesn’t matter.”

“But you weren’t for awhile.”

“And you did your best. You took care of our daughter when I couldn’t. You did things that, at the time, made me hate you, but really make me love you now,” she sets her hands on his. “I’m okay, Toby. I’m better than okay…I’m happy.”

He smiles, “me too.”