DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK

THANKS TO LAURZZ WHO GAVE ME THE COURAGE TO POST THIS THE FIRST TIME AROUND, AND FOR FULLY HAVING MY BACK THE SECOND TIME AROUND. REGARDLESS OF WHAT OTHERS MAY THINK, SHE MEANS THE WORLD TO ME AND THEY NEED TO JUST EITHER MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS OR KEEP THEIR YAPS SHUT. BOTH WOULD BE NICE.

THIS STORY IS BEING REPOSTED AND DEDICATED TO ALL OF THE FABULOUS, SUPPORTIVE READERS WHO HAVE PM'd ME ASKING WHATEVER HAPPENED TO IT AND REQUESTING THAT I PUT IT BACK UP. I AM ASHAMED TO ADMIT THAT I CAVED TO PRESSURE FROM A SELECT VIEW. THE TRUE FANS WHO ENJOYED THIS AND WANTED IT TO CONTINUE, HAVE TAUGHT ME THAT THESE NEGATIVE VIEW ONLY NEED TO DO TWO THINGS: REALIZE THAT THIS IS FICTION AND GET A LIFE.

A/N: THIS STORY CONTAINS CHARACTER DEATH. TWO CHARACTERS ACTUALLY. IT WILL ALSO CONTAIN FLASHBACKS TO BOTH FLACK/OC AND DL AND AN EVENTUAL DANNY/SAM RELATIONSHIP. THIS STORY IS A STAND ALONE. IT HAS NO TIE IN TO MY PREVIOUS WORKS. THE ONLY CONSTANT IS THE USE OF MY OC, SAMANTHA ROSS.

And whoever can tell me the reference to a very important DL episode from season 5, wins an (unfortunately) imaginary trip anywhere in the world


The world keeps spinning roundIf I had only known
I'd never hear your voice again
I'd memorize each thing you ever said
And on those lonely nights
I could think of them once more
Keep your words alive inside my head
If I had only known
I'd never hear your voice again
You were the treasure in my hand
You were the one who always stood beside me
So unaware I foolishly believed
That you would always be there
But then there came a day
And I turned my head and you slipped away
If I had only known
It was my last night by your side
I'd pray a miracle would stop the dawn
And when you'd smile at me
I would look into your eyes
And make sure you know my love
For you goes on and on
If I had only known
If I had only known
The love I would've shown
If I had only known."
-If I Had Only Known, Reba McEntire.

"


It had been three hundred and sixty five days.

Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

Five hundred and twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes.

An insurmountable, agonizing amount of seconds since Samantha Flack's life had been tragically and horrifically shattered. Since her earth had stopped moving and the ground had opened up beneath her and swallowed her whole. Since her entire existence had come to a painful and screeching halt.

She could remember it vividly. Standing on her front porch. On the bottom step while her husband stood on the walked below her. The sky had been a vivid blue dotted with thick, luxurious snow white clouds. A slight breeze had been rustling the tree tops and caressing her face and gently billowing the stray hairs that had snuck out from her ponytail and hung at the sides of face. Birds had chirped merrily in the trees while the odd car passed by on the street outside of their Flushing, Queens home. A home they had lived in for less than year. Spending the first two months and a half months of their eight month old marriage in a cramped apartment in lower Manhattan.

She remembered that he had packed his things loaded the trunk of the car the night before. That the plane ticket to Virginia had been sitting on the table in the foyer, next to the front door. Along with his car keys and wallet. Everything neatly organized to save himself some time the next day. So he wouldn't have to rush around to get things done instead of being able to spend some last moments in bed with her. He had surprised her with breakfast in bed. A massive glass of orange juice, scrambled eggs, toast and slices of fresh cantaloupe and a banana. She had complained -after showering him with kisses and hugs and thank you's for being so thoughtful- that he had made her way too much food. That there was no way she'd ever be able to finish all of it. And he'd sat down on the bed beside her and laid a gentle hand on her stomach and kissed her softly.

"Mommies have to eat," he had said, the utmost pride and adoration in his vivid blue eyes as he looked down at her flat stomach where their unborn child resided. Two days before they'd found out about their baby. She was only two and a half months along, but they were ecstatic.

And full of hope for the future.

She could still hear him say those words to her. Even a year later she could still hear his voice and see that tenderness in his eyes that he reserved only for her. She could still taste his lips and smell his sweat and feel the muscles in his back and arms moving as they made love less then two hours before he was scheduled to leave. She could feel the sensations he provoked inside of her. The way his skin felt against hers. She could hear the things he murmured in her ear. Feel his hands clutching hers tightly above her head as he moved slowly inside of her. She could still hear herself calling his name as she came and feel the way his body quivered against hers when he himself reached completion. She could still see the intensity in his eyes and the perspiration beading on his forehead as he pulled back to look at her.

She could still hear him say I love you.


Don Flack Jr's last meal at home had been Chinese food left over from the night before, three chocolate cupcakes with vanilla icing from the dozen she'd made the afternoon previous, and two large glasses of cherry kool-aid. The kool-aid had always been her favourite drink, and she'd achieved in getting him somewhat addicted to the sugary sweet beverage in the two years that they had spent in each others lives. He hadn't had time to rinse his plate and glass before he left. She'd told him to sit the dirty things in the sink, that she'd take care of them after seeing him home. Or when she got home from work if case she forgot before then. That dish and glass had sat, un-rinsed, next to the sink exactly where'd he'd put it, for nearly two months. In her mind numbing, soul shattering grief, the simple removal of those items would have destroyed her. They had been the last things he had touched. The smudge from his lips had remained on the rim of the glass, along with one perfect, chocolate laced fingerprint along the side.

She remembered that he'd been wearing a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans and a yellow, white and blue striped golf shirt that was slightly tight around his biceps. The jeans were the ones she always declared were her favourite on him. While some women went weak in the knees when their men put on an exceptionally tailored suit and a crisp dress shirt and a tie and well polished shoes, she in turn had went weak in the knees at the sight of him in normal clothes. She had been so used to seeing him dressed up for work every day -not that he looked any less devastatingly handsome as time went on- it was seeing him looking like the guy next door that made her knees go weak and her stomach flutter. Those jeans were loose in the legs but hugged his ass perfectly. The cuffs had been frayed and there'd been a small, tattered hole in the back pocket. He'd worn a pair a black, blue and white Adidas cross trainers she'd bought him for his birthday. He normally wore them in the gym, but when she'd seen him slipping his feet into a God awful pair of Adidas flip flops she'd been attempting to toss in the trash for two years, she'd begged and pleaded with him to wear the runners.

As he'd stepped out of the house, after tucking his wallet into his back pocket and scooping up his keys, he'd slipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and a backwards NYPD ball cap onto his head. Still in her pyjamas, Samantha had stepped out onto the front porch in her bare feet, pausing at the top step as he started down the stairs and suddenly turned back towards her.

"I love you, baby," he'd said, and then drew her into his large, strong arms and held her tightly. "I'll see you soon," and he'd patted her stomach and gave a soft smile. "Be good for your mommy."

She'd kissed him goodbye -several times in fact- and clung to him as if fearing some force would rip them apart for eternity. Then he'd announced he was going to be late and didn't want to miss his flight. And he'd pulled away and gently touched her face and stared deep into her eyes. No words needed to be spoken. All their feelings and thoughts and emotions had been laid bare right there and then.

Then he'd turned back around and headed down the stairs. Promising to call her as soon as he got to the hotel before he'd slipped in behind the wheel of his black SUV. He'd started the ignition and gave a wave farewell before pulling out of the driveway.

And just like that he was gone.

Had she known that it was forever, she would have held onto to him and never let him go. Had she known it was the last time she'd ever see his face, she would have begged and pleaded for him to stay. Had she known that it would be the last time she'd ever heard his voice, she would have memorized every single word he ever said.

Less then three hours later, while she analyzed what seemed like an endless mountain of trace samples, her husband, the love of her life, had died along with two hundred and sixty two other innocent souls on board American Airlines flight 509. Taking with him not only her dreams of forever with the only man she'd ever truly loved, but the most incredible best friend she could have ever hoped for. The woman that had been a sister to her, who had welcome her with open arms when she arrived at the New York City crime lab two and a half years before. Who had laughed with her and cried with her. Who'd been there through the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. Who'd never judged her and who had always loved her. Who she could fight with one moment and forgive with the next.

Who had taken her place on the ill fated flight.

When Mac had been looking for a member of the team, to accompany a homicide detective to an anti-terrorism seminar in Virginia, the Flack's had decided to make it a husband and wife affair. Treat it is a little get away from the hustle and bustle of their daily existence. Put in for a few extra days off. So that when the conference was over, they had some alone time together. It wasn't an exotic vacation, but the thirty days from the time they signed up for it until a week before, they'd been on cloud nine about the idea of just getting away from it all. Until what Sam had thought was a simple case of the stomach flu and two missed menstrual cycles she blamed on work related stress, had proved to be so much more.

The all day sickness she was experiencing had forced her to cancel any plans on going away. She just wasn't up to it. And while they'd both been disappointed, they had been thrilled at the news that they were going to be parents. As had all of their closest friends and loved ones. Lindsay had stepped up and offered to take Sam's place. Mac needed someone to represent the lab and she had no pressing plans or children that relied on her presence, and was keen on the idea of a few days away.

She had talked to Lindsay the night before. The day after she was to arrive back, Lindsay Monroe was scheduled for her final wedding dress fitting. Samantha, as matron of honour, was in charge of making sure that all her best friend's appointments were kept and tasks were completed. The wedding -a candlelit service attended by seventy five guests- was scheduled to be held in two months at the historic St Patrick's Cathedral. Followed by an elaborate reception at The Waldorf Astoria. All Sam had been able to think about, or talk about, was the fact that by the time of the wedding, she would be almost five months pregnant. She was worried about how big she would be, and how horrible she'd look in her deep purple matron of honour dress. Lindsay had just laughed and told her that it was impossible for her to be anything but stunningly beautiful.

Despite spending the entire day working together, the two girls had remained on the phone, chatting about the wedding and the baby and the men in their life until well past two in the morning. It was as if they needed to get everything out in the opening because there wasn't going to be another chance to do it. Flack and Danny had long retired to bed. Both snoring noisily. One in the master bedroom of their home in Flushing, and the other stretched out on his couch in his apartment in lower Manhattan. And as the early morning hours crept up on them and both girls were yawning through their giggles and fighting sleep, they had reluctantly bid farewell.

"I'll pick the baby up something when I'm on my way back from Virginia," Lindsay had said. "I love you both."

Those were the last words Lindsay Monroe had ever spoken to her.

The next afternoon, Stella had rushed into the trace lab, a frantic expression on her face. She was nearly breathless and near tears, and said little more then "You have to come with me," as she practically dragged a startled Samantha Flack out of the trace lab and down to Mac's office.

The remaining members of the team were all gathered inside with the door closed. Mac stood, in front of his desk, his face ashen and his hands planted firmly on his hips. His eyes riveted on the television in front of him. At the time, Samantha wasn't sure how that television got in there. She would later learn that upon hearing the first news reports of the crash, a lab tech had alerted him and Mac had demanded that the tv be brought in ASAP. And then he'd alerted the team to what was going on.

Hawkes was there, his usual calm and composed self. Sitting emotionless on the couch in Mac's office, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together as he listened to the news reports. Adam, her beloved and treasured younger brother, had been pacing the room with a hand over his eyes to hid the tears.

And then there was Danny.

Danny had been the one, by his sheer facial expression alone, that had alerted her to fact that something terrible had happened. His eyes were red and swollen. Tears glistened as they trailed down his unshaven, horrified face. And when the door had opened and Stella led her inside, it had been Danny who'd made eye contact with her first. Those blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled, were filled with raw grief. And as they locked on her bewildered golden brown ones, they conveyed what she had always feared the most.

That she had lost everything.


She had always thought that it would be Danny Messer delivering the news of her husband's death. Only she had always thought that if that day ever came, it would be on the job. That Donald Flack Jr would have died doing what he was born to do. Protecting the city he loved, and making the world a better place, one bad guy at a time. In her worst nightmares, she'd always dreamt that he was shot during a raid or that a perp had gotten a hold of his gun either during an interrogation or a take down. Once she had dreamt that his life had been cut short by a terrorist attack similar to those that had occurred on nine eleven. But never had she ever thought she lose him to other outside forces or to even illness.

But one thing had remained constant in her dreams. It had always been Danny to tell her what had happened. Danny who had broken down delivering the horrible news. Danny who picked her up after she'd collapsed sobbing to the ground. Danny who had held her and stroked her hair as she cried into his shoulder. Danny who'd always whispered in her ear that everything was going to be okay. That she was going to be fine. That he was going to take care of her.

And it had been Danny. Danny who, without a word, pushing his own grief aside, had broken away from the group gathered around the television and gathered her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Samantha," he'd whispered. Forgoing his usual use of the nickname Brooklyn that he'd pegged her with her first day on the job. "I'm so sorry. He's gone. Flack's gone. They're gone."

The wind had been promptly knocked out of her and her knees had went completely weak. Her legs had buckled and Danny had been the one the keep her on her feet. Who'd ordered Adam to get her a drink of water as he pulled up a chair and gently lowered her in it.

And then she had heard just how she'd lost her husband and her best friend. The words, "American Airlines Flight 509, down in a field outside of Virginia. Two hundred and sixty two on board. No survivors" would be forever etched in her memory. As would the pictures of a smoking crater in the middle of a farmer's field. Debris had been scattered for miles. Nothing bigger then a paper back novel save for a couple of seats, had been found.

At first there'd been a fear of a bomb or some kind of terrorist act. But when days passed without any organization taking claim for the incident, all eyes turned to the idea that it could have been mechanical failure. When the NTSB finally found the black boxes, in bushes several miles away, they had, after listening to the cockpit voice recorder and looking at the data, concluded that the flight had suffered complete engine failure. The pilots had reported the situation to air traffic controllers, and two minutes later had gone off radar and there'd been complete radio silence.

Two months after the crash, the cause of it had officially been reported as a massive, all systems malfunction. Samantha Flack and Danny Messer, along with two hundred and sixty other family members, had been sent their loved ones death certificate. The COD had been listed as fragmentation due to blunt force trauma.

Samantha had looked at those words and sobbed as the realization of them had set in. Nothing had ever been found. Nothing ever would. And while the rational part of her knew that he was gone and never coming back, that she was a widow and would raise their child on her own, the irrational side of her told her that maybe there was still hope. That maybe he was out there somewhere. That maybe he'd simply skipped the flight and took off. Maybe he'd gotten tired of their marriage. Maybe he wasn't ready to be a father and he felt the easier thing to do was simply take off. And maybe one day, when he smartened up and realized he couldn't live without her or their child, he'd come walking through the front door, vowing to never leave again.

A year later, as she lay in their rumbled bed, the irrational side of her was still waiting. All of his clothes still hung in the closet and sat neatly folded in his dresser. The clothes that had been in the laundry basket had been washed and put away. The half empty bottle of water he'd taken to bed the night before still sat on the night stand, along with an extremely dog-eared copy of War and Peace. Beside it, sat his wedding ring. A thick white gold band that sparkled in the sunlight cascading through the bedroom window. Three days before his death, he'd been in a tousle with a perp and had busted three of his knuckles on his left hand. He had taken the ring off when wearing it had proved painful. And he'd sat it on the night stand amidst her bitching that all the ladies would be after him now that he'd taken off. Then he'd rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around her and tackled her to the bed. Promising to put it back on when the swelling went down. And declaring she was the only woman in his life.

In the bathroom, his toothbrush still sat in the holder beside hers. She kept his razor in its usual resting place, and all his other necessities where she was used to seeing them. She kept everything, big and small that reminded her of him. No matter how many people told her she was sick and obsessed for doing it. No matter how many times she was told that she needed help. That it wasn't healthy and it wasn't normal to be clinging onto him as much as she was.

No one understood. No one got it. No one ever asked her to explain how she was feeling. Or seemed to even care. She felt empty and lost. As if the only thing she had worth living for some days, was the thought that one day she'd see him again.

The only person who got it, who understood how she felt, was Danny. Because he'd lost someone that he'd loved more then life itself. He didn't judge her or criticize her. He would sit for hours with her. Holding her hand. Whether it be in complete silence, or listening to ranting and raving about the injustices of the world. Danny had been there no matter what. While other people had found it hard to be around her -mostly out of fear of not knowing what to say- he'd stepped up to take care of her. Regardless of how bad he was suffering inside. He had taken her to doctor's appointments and ultrasounds. He had made sure she had proper food in the house and that she was well stocked with prenatal vitamins. He had made repairs around the house. He had went with her to buy baby furniture and painted and decorated the nursery.

He'd been there when her son was born. He'd been nervous and afraid, but he'd been by her side through the entire thirteen hour ordeal. Getting her ice chips and walking her up and down the hospital hallways. Letting her curse and cry and scream and squeeze his hand so tight he thought she broke it. And in the end, as that newborn boy cried, he'd cut the cord and the doctor had laid the baby in his arms. Tears had been streaming down his face as he carried the child to his mother and presented him to her for the first time.

It had always been Danny.

She thought of him now, as she yawned noisily and rubbed at her burning, teary eyes. She wondered how he was holding up on the first anniversary of his future wife's, and his best friend's deaths. Danny didn't talk about how he was feeling very often. She knew he was devastated. Even now. Despite the fact he shed little tears around her, she knew that he was broken. He too had lost his everything. His entire future. And while she'd hung on to everything that had meant something to her, Danny had gone in a completely different direction with his grief. Within a month of Lindsay's death, he'd gotten rid of nearly everything she owned. He'd kept behind a few ideas that mattered most to him, passed a few more Sam's way and sent boxes of stuff to Lindsay's folks. The rest he'd simply donated to charity. While Sam found it a comfort to have her husband's things surrounding her, Danny said it was too hard on him to see all of Lindsay's stuff lying around. He knew she was gone. He didn't need constant reminders.

She thought of the memorial service being held that afternoon at that farmer's field in Virginia. The smoking crater had long been covered over. The only thing that remained to remind people of what had happened that day were two hundred and sixty two small American flags that the farmer stuck in the soil. He replaced them four times a year when they became tattered and weather beaten. Family members of the passengers and crew would be descending on the site of the crash. Prayers would be recited. The National Anthem and hymns would be sung. The names of all the victims would be read by loved ones. Both Sam and Danny had declined invitations. Sam had chosen not to go due to her still fragile emotional state and her son that needed her. Danny had just refused to go. No explanation. So Stella and Adam had gone in their place. To read the two names that still evoked tears, and many a fond memory.

Sam wished more of those memories would come to her. Because even a year later, all her mind could conjure up was thoughts of her husband's final moments. For two minutes the crew and passengers on that plane had known that something terrible was happening. For a hundred and twenty seconds, they knew that they weren't going to survive. And she wondered, in her darkest moments, just what was going through her husband's mind. How had he been feeling? Had he been frightened? Stoic? The calm and composed on even to the bitter end? Had he thought about her? About their unborn child? Did he have any regrets? Were there things he wanted to say to her but knew he'd never get the chance to?

And because she seemed to thrive on torturing herself, Samantha Flack rolled over onto her side in that empty bed, her arm reaching out for his pillow. The same routine she'd practiced for a year now. Reaching out for him and finding nothing but cold and empty sheets. And then, with her eyes riveted on the bedside clock, she remained motionless and silent for two minutes.

It felt like a lifetime.

But it was nothing compared to three hundred and sixty five days.

That seemed like an eternity.


When the time had passed, she sighed heavily and flopped over onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling and relaxed in the silence of her home. Listening for any signs of life through the baby monitor sitting above her pillow. It was quarter to seven and he was due for a feeding. She was tempted to climb out of bed and wander down the hall and into the nursery. To peek into his crib and make sure he was okay. She was constantly besieged by worries that something would happen to her son. That something would take him away from her. The only link she had left to her husband. She fought the urge to run and check on him and instead turned her head towards the table on her side of the bed.

Where a wedding picture sat in a heavy pewter frame. Taken twenty months ago on the front steps of St. Michael's Catholic Church in Flushing. The same church in which Donald Flack Sr had married his own wife, and then had his baby son and namesake baptised in. She had worn an off the rack gown she'd purchased for two hundred bucks. A white satin gown with three quarter length sleeves, a sweetheart neckline and a small train. Beads and crystals around the edges of the sleeves and the along the hem of the dress and the train and around the waist. A crystal head band and her hair styled in loose curls. A cathedral length veil completing her ensemble. She was standing on the third step from the bottom with her brand new husband in his NYPD dress blues standing on the sidewalk in front of her. Her arm wrapped around his neck as they both beamed for the camera. At a full foot taller than her, it had always been tricky to get decent standing up pictures of them. The photographer had captured the perfect moment and it remained her favourite picture of all time.

She slid across the bed and reached out and scooped the picture up. She settled the bottom of the frame on her chest and held it tightly in both hands as she stared at the image. They'd been so happy. So in love. Not just at that moment. But from the very second they'd fallen in love. He hadn't always been the most gentle and patient and understanding man in the world. There were times that he had been capable of being a total ass. Where he spoke before he thought and something sarcastic and hurtful tumbled out of his mouth. But there were other times he was kind and considerate and loving. Those times far outweighed the bad ones. The best part of their relationship was that neither of them were perfect and they didn't expect each other to be. They accepted one another.

And loved one another. Wholly and completely.

She gave a small smile and trailed her fingertips along her husband's smiling face.

"I miss you," she whispered in the silence of their room. "I love you. Always. It will always be you."

The baby monitor above her head crackled to life. Soft murmurings and barely audible whimpers. From the day he was born, Donald Joseph Flack the Third had never been much of a crier. It was rare that he escalated into full out wailing. Something his weary and emotionally drained mother was grateful for. She set the picture down on the nightstand and wiped her tears on the front of her pyjama top before tossing the covers off of her and climbing out of bed. Yawning noisily she journeyed out of the room and padded down the hall to the nursery.

"Mommy's coming," she called out in a soft, tired voice as she entered the colourfully decorated room.

The day before his death, Flack had told her that if they found out down the road they were having a boy, he was going to do the room in red, white and blue. The colours of the New York Rangers. His favourite hockey team. Sam had held true to his wishes. When her last ultrasound had confirmed that she was indeed having a boy, she had enlisted Danny to do the grunt work. The results had been far beyond anything she ever expected. One white wall, one blue, one red, and the forth, red, white and blue stripes. Danny had called in favour -to who he wouldn't say- and had procured a Rangers jersey autographed by the whole team. It now hung in a glass display frame on the far wall. He'd even found a ceiling light shade that was an exact replica of the score board at Madison Square Garden.

She walked over to the natural wood crib and peered inside. A bright smiling spreading across her face at the sight of her beautiful, precious bundle of joy.

"Good morning my baby sweets," she greeted, and was rewarded with a genuine smile and a loud gurgle from the soon to be four month old. He was a spitting image of his father. A head full of black, thick hair and huge blue eyes and dimples in his cheeks. "How is mommy's handsome boy?" she asked, picking him up out of his bed and showering him with kisses. "How is my gorgeous man? Did you have a good sleep? Mommy missed you. Did you have good dreams?"

She carried him to his changing table near the window and placed him down gently. "I bet you're just starving aren't you," she said, as she reached between his legs and snapped open the closures on his Winnie the Pooh sleeper. "First we need to change your bum. 'Cause I bet you're just soaked."

The baby gurgled noisily.

She peeled off the sticky tabs on the Pampers diaper. "PEE-EW!" she cried as she yanked the wet diaper out from underneath him. "DJ stinks like pee-pee!"

Her son smiled brightly.

She called him DJ for the sole fact that she couldn't utter the names Don or Donnie without breaking down.

She snagged a wipe from the nearby container and cleaned his bum and put him in a fresh diaper and snapped his sleeper closed once again. Picking him up, she carried him along one arm and deposited the dirty diaper in the Genie next to the changing table.

"Today's a special day," she told her son, as she journeyed over to the white gliding chair in the corner and slowly and carefully sat down. "A very special day," she added, as she unbuttoned her pyjama top and placed her baby at her breast. "Today's the day that daddy went to heaven," she explained, tears filling her eyes as she spoke, stroking her son's hair as he nursed. "Today's the day that he became an angel. And we're supposed to be happy for him. Because he's at peace now. He's not scared or alone or in any pain. He's watching us and listening to us. He's looking at you and smiling…" her voice cracked with emotion and she cleared her throat. "Your daddy loves you so much. He loved you the moment we found out that you were in my tummy. He was so excited about having you. It was all he talked about!"

She sniffled noisily and cleared her throat once again.

"Your daddy would have given anything to be here right now," she continued. "He didn't want to leave us. He loved us too much. But sometimes, things happen. We can't control them or stop them. But you have to know that your daddy…" she fought back a sob. "..your daddy was brave and strong and he never would have left us unless he had to. He loved us."

She dissolved into tears and forced herself to look away from her innocent child. She looked out the window at the bright sunshine and the leaves off the trees being stirred by the wind."He loved us," she said aloud. And with conviction.


So to all of those who have already read this, while reviewing would be much appreciated, I can understand if you don't want to. For anyone whose new to this story, I hope that you enjoyed the first chapter and will enjoy whatever is to come. I have this first thirteen chapters stored away, and if people would like, I will definitely continued past that.

So R and R folks! Nastiness need not bother.