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I chuckled as I picked up the baby at my feet, the little boy who had just fallen over after taking a few, shaky, unsteady steps. Not just a baby, I realized. My baby. My son.

Ahren. My little boy.

And Eadlyn, my beautiful daughter, over by her mother.

The twins.

My twins.

I smiled as I gazed at our small family. Ahren and Eadlyn were about one and a half years old now, both walking, as shaky as their legs may be. America and I had settled in to being King and Queen surprisingly easily and the castes were on their way out.

I looked at my wife, overpowering joy flowing through me as I thought of her and our children. How had I ever had a doubt in my mind that she wasn't the one for me? How foolish I had been!

And better yet: she'd once told me that she wanted a big family. Unless her wishes had changed unexpectedly, then Ahren and Eadlyn weren't the last Schreaves to be born through America and me.

The thought filled me with joy. Not just happiness, but joy: the overpowering emotion that assured me that all would be well.

And that was especially true when I had my son and daughter with me.

Ahren fidgeted on my lap, letting out a little whimper, which was a sign to me that he wanted to get down. Carefully, so as not to hurt him in any way, I set him on the ground. As soon as his pudgy, baby feet hit the carpet of the King's Suite, he was off, arms outstretched as he trekked towards his mother.

She grinned, eyes lit as she encouraged Ahren every step of the way. Once he was within her reach, she scooped him up, showering him with kisses. He just grinned and giggled, writhing playfully in his mother's arms.

Seeing her brother getting more attention than her, Eadlyn managed to walk to America and put her pudgy hands on her mother's knee, pressing on it and making baby noises to get America to turn to her. When she did, she just laughed and scooped her into her arms, too, pure happiness alive in her blue eyes.

I felt my face soften as I took them in. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the nearest camera sitting on my desk, stealing it away from its perch on top of a pile of papers. I pointed it at the three most important people in my life and took a picture.

America, surprised by the click and flash of the camera, turned to me with shock written on her face, the expression almost immediately turning to one of happiness and pretend reprimanding.

"Maxon," she chastised, waving a finger at me. "Haven't we talked about this? You taking a picture of me when I'm not aware of it?"

I shrugged. "Probably." And I took another picture, capturing my amazing wife as she laughed, eyes bright with love.

Simultaneously, Ahren and Eadlyn started whining, grabbing at America's shirt, not happy with her attention being anywhere but on them. She obliged, happily shushing their worries.

Yes, the babies and I were always seeming to compete nowadays. What for? If it wasn't obvious enough, we were competing for America. We both wanted her to ourselves, but she always had the other to tend to as well.

And so did I. I wasn't leaving her to care for Ahren and Eadlyn alone. I wouldn't ever even dream of it. But it seemed that I wanted alone time with her more than she did with me.

Or maybe it was just my imagination. America was like a book written in a language I hadn't fully finished learning about: while she may be readable, understandable at one moment, she may be complete gibberish in the next.

And that was what kept our marriage interesting.

I held out my arms and she understood. It wasn't the babies I wanted in my arms at the moment, though they'd do wonderfully, too. I wanted my America.

She stood and came to sit in my lap, the babies in her own. And so we sat, her in my arms, our children in hers, each looking at one another. I stared at her red hair, feeling as if I'd fallen for her all over again, the love in my heart feeling as young as it had the first time I'd felt it for her.

Then I looked at Ahren and Eadlyn, who were tangling each other up in their arms and legs and brunette and blond hair. They were so small, so young, so innocent. No one in the world, nothing in the world, could be as beautiful or awing as they were.

And it made me wonder what had ever happened to my own father for him to seem to despise me so much. I hadn't ever done anything wrong to him, or anything so wrong that it deserved his eternal torment, at least.

I looked at my own son. I imagined what he'd look like as a teenager, if he'd have my hair, my smile.

Then I imagined what it would be like to whip my own son, like my father had done to me. How cruel it would be, how heartless it would be. How I'd keep hitting the whip across his back even when he grunted in pain or winced with agony.

And I couldn't do it.

I couldn't imagine doing that to my son.

I wasn't sure how anyone could.

I screwed my eyes shut and swallowed, trying to block the thoughts from my mind.

Don't think about that, Maxon. You're not like him. You'd never do that.

But how do I know? How can I be sure that I'd never hurt him? Who knows; maybe Father was thinking the exact same thing when he held me in his arms when I was a baby. And then he changed along the way and hurting me didn't bother him anymore.

How can I know that he wasn't this way when he was a new father, when he was holding his family in his arms, when he looked into his son's eyes? Heck, I could be an exact replica of him in this moment.

…and there may not be anything I can do to keep me from turning into him.

A silent tear ran down my cheek at the thought. The sounds of Ahren's pain were clear in my ears, now. But not just in my ears. They were everywhere, in the room, bouncing about in the pictures of the camera, reverberating around inside of my tortured head.

And I couldn't stop them.

I managed to open my eyes and I was greeted with the sight of America staring back at me. Her blue eyes looked sad, something like heartbreak seeming to show in them, all of it for me.

Her eyes filled to the brim with tears as she reached up and wiped my own away, gently moving her thumb across my cheeks.

I sniffed as I held her, held my children, all of them in my arms. As confused and hurt as I felt, I had to be there for them. I had to protect them. So I shoved away my thoughts and smiled, trying to put on a brave face for my wife.

But she saw through me, just like she always did and always had.

"It's okay," she whispered in my ear, moving to wrap her only free arm around my neck, pressing her face into my collarbone. "Trust me. We'll all be okay, Maxon."

"But what if…." I swallowed. "What if I'm like him?"

Sensing I had more to say, she stayed quiet.

"I don't know how he was when he was a father to me when I was a baby, America. He could have felt the exact same way about me as I do about them. He could have felt that he needed to protect them, just like I do. So what if end up like him? What if I'm just like him?"

America bit her lip as she looked into my eyes sadly. She took a moment before she talked, thinking about what she should say. "Maxon, I didn't know your father well or really at all. I'm not going to deny that. I never talked to him other than when he was furious at me for some reason or another. So no, I didn't know him that well. But I did know a few things about him.

"And I know so many things about you, Maxon Schreave. You are kind, funny, loving, amazing, and a million more things that I can't even express to you.

"From knowing so little about your Father and from knowing so much about you, I can tell that there are some things that you got from you father. Your stubbornness, for example, and your ability to know that what you are doing is what you want to be doing.

"But I know undoubtedly that you only got the good things from your Father. You're not cruel or unjust like he was. You're not harsh or uncaring or unwilling to listen. You're none of those things. You're none of the bad in him.

"You are the opposite of him in so many ways. You care about others. You listen to them. You'd take a beating for them, you've done so for me.

"You love, Maxon. You love with all of your heart. And your heart would never, not in a million years, let you deliberately hurt another. Especially your own child, someone from your family. And that's just one of the reasons that I love you."

By the end of her speech, I had wrapped my own free arm around her, pressing her to me, crying tears into her red hair. She was crying too, staining my coat with her own tears.

I pressed my forward to hers, speaking through my sobs. "I love you, you know?"

She smiled and gave a small huff of a laugh. "I do. I really do. And I know that you love them, too."

We both turned to Ahren and Eadlyn, who were being mercifully quiet, which was unlike them. They'd exhausted themselves and we're just lying in their mother's lap, dozing sleepily.

I smiled, tears in my eyes again. "I do. I really do."

America had convinced me. How did she always know what to say to make me feel better?

But then something happened that set what America had told me in stone, made me sure that I wouldn't be like my father. Ahren opened his eyes, giving a yawn as he did so. He looked up at me, dreary eyes unfocused for a moment before they settled on me. And when they did, he opened his mouth and made the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

"Dada?"

America and I gasped, looking at each other in awe as we heard our baby boy's first word. It rang in our ears as we laughed, sounds of joy and wonder.

And I was sure.

Positive, in fact.

I would never let anyone hurt my children.

Hope you liked it! Be sure to check out my other Selection stories, another one shot called Infuriating and a story called Mistake! And please review!

Thanks! Love you lots!