1919
Rosalind woke slowly, feeling more rested than she could remember feeling in days. She rolled over to check the bassinette but found it empty; Christopher must have gotten up with Andrew and let her sleep.
'Darling Christopher!' She stretched luxuriously before throwing back the blankets and reaching for her robe. The house was still quiet when she came out of the lavatory so she tiptoed downstairs wondering where her boys were.
She didn't have to look far. Christopher was stretched out on the settee, his arms curled protectively around Andrew who was lying on his chest, both of them fast asleep.
Rosalind paused in the doorway her heart so full that for moment she thought she was going to burst into tears. She took a deep breath, blinking back her tears as she tried to memorize the scene, carefully noting the details so she could sketch it later.
The morning light filtering through the curtains allowed her to see how much younger Christopher always looked when he slept, the years the war had added smoothed away. The way his hold on Andrew was gentle and strong at the same time. The way Andrew had nuzzled his head under Christopher's chin, one perfect little hand gently grasping Christopher's pajama top.
Finally, afraid that Christopher would wake if she looked for much longer, she tore her gaze away and silently made her way to the kitchen to start breakfast. It was Saturday so Christopher didn't need to go into work and she smiled as she set the kettle on the stove, imagining the lovely day they would spend together, just the three of them.