Shelagh Turner lay facing her husband, her eyes adjusting to the rising sun shining gently through the faded golden curtains.
Silence.
As much as Shelagh loved the sounds of her daughter giggling at her brother as he pulled funny faces, or her husband excitedly relaying information on the newest breakthrough in medicine; the silence was always a welcome part of her day. It also gave her time to thank God when the hustle and bustle of the day was yet to start, or had finally come to an end.
This morning, she thought back to two years before this moment, the last day she would be called by her religious name. The name that had shaped so much of her life, and provided her with the routine a young girl needed. Shelagh had never felt regret of her decision to join the order, instead, doing so had given her the strength she needed to look deep into her heart and find something which she had been missing all her life. True and loyal love. Her mother died when she was a child and only memories of long, flowing blonde hair and deep blue eyes flickered in her mind. Her father had done his best in juggling parenthood and working to feed and clothe them both, but what he lacked was time. Now, Shelagh had promised to herself that she would give all of her energy to her family, even having given up the nursing work she loved.
Slowly, Patrick's eyes flickered open and his lips turned upwards slightly as her looked at his wife.
"Morning love" He croaked
Leaning over, she gave him a slow kiss, allowing her lips to linger just a touch longer. Just as she was pulling back, she felt his fingers gradually tangle themselves in her hair.
"What was that for? Have I done something special to deserve that?" He chuckled quietly
"You loved me Patrick" She answered simply.
"I don't think so Sweetheart"
"No?" She questioned, her brow starting to furrow in the centre.
He laughed, louder now, "Believe me darling, I love you, not loved. If anything, my love has only grown, especially if I get another kiss like that..." He pursed his mouth in anticipation.
Without a word, Shelagh planted another kiss upon his lips.
A morning passed as Timothy was sent off to school and Angela taken to the clinic where her parents were working for the day. Lunchtime came around slowly, having been a day of routine appointments and booking in home births. Patrick sat in the kitchen, his head hung wearily over the table and the freshly made cup of tea. The steam from the recently boiled kettle began to disappear and evaporate just as Shelagh walked in with their small tot resting heavily on her hip.
"Shelagh", he uttered, a brief smile graced his lips as he held his hand out for her to hold. Everything came back to him. The mist swirling around their feet, and now the steam coming from the boiled kettle filled the room. Her slightly disheveled look. Yet, she was still the same Shelagh he had 'met' only two years ago. Sister Bernadette he had seen originally, but it had been Shelagh who he had discovered and found. He remembered the kiss on her palm which left her confused in heart. Yet all he, as only her GP and silent admirer from afar, held onto was the physical and inner beauty that he was sure it was impossible for one person to have. All his actions that afternoon were a blur, even now, as his memory was filled with small moments of him and the, then, nun and his son. The moment their eyes met that day, his heart raced like an athlete desperate to win their race. His own heart was desperate to win the girl who had been present in so many of his dreams. And he had.
