A/N: Thanks to everyone...

Love Will Find A Way

Chapter 7

Michele Stevens knew the day she met Judge Dorsey was one of the good days of her life. She had killed her husband—in an act that another judge decided was self-defense—and Judge Dorsey had entered her life to help set her affairs in order during her final days. Gratefulness did not begin to express her feelings.

When he had returned this morning, followed a short while later by Mr. and Mrs. Sneed's and her daughters, she knew he had found the right couple—parents for her children. She had read their history—enough to know they were honest and compassionate people—and today, the judge had brought them to meet with her.

She watched her daughters play several times a week—deciding a month ago that she did not want them to see her dying—and today was the same. The little girls were too young to be affected by death—to even know what it meant, she thought; they needed to remain innocent. And she had found enjoyment and contentment in watching them. They would not see her in the wretched, ill state she was in as she waited to die.

And it wasn't as difficult for her—the dying process and making arrangements for her children—as it might seem to others. Everyone had a time to live and a time to die, she believed. At ten, she had watched her own father die after massive injuries from a farming accident. Her mother had managed to grieve for another ten years before dying in front of the television while Michele was away at college. Between her parents' deaths, her grandparents had died, leaving her, her mother, and an elderly aunt with a small farm that had been in the family for three generations. Dying was part of living—so she went on living.

She did not finish the semester, moving back to the farm house to live with her aunt, and over the next five years, she worked in the local drug store, for a lawyer, and then for the county where she met the handsome and fun-loving Cary Stevens, who also worked for the county in the highway and road maintenance department. He moved dirt, he liked to say.

Cary had graduated from high school three years ahead of Michele. His father had died in a truck accident before Cary could remember him and he and his mother had lived above the café where she worked. In a small town where everyone was living near the poverty level, it did not matter that your mother was a cook in one of two eating establishments. But it did matter that Cary could catch a ball while running. He played basketball, baseball, and football and did it well—but not good enough for any college recruiting coach to offer him a scholarship. He went to work instead. Two months after he and Michele married, his mother dropped dead in the kitchen of the café where she had worked for over twenty years.

For five years, Michele and Cary lived, loved, and worked in the place they had always called home.

Then a work accident—at the time they thought it was a minor accident—a head injury that left Cary bleeding in a parking lot followed by a week-long hospitalization. And the real tragedy followed. Within days, Michele knew Cary had had a change in personality; a few months later, he received a sizable settlement from the county.

By the time, they decided to leave their hometown, almost randomly picking Las Vegas, Michele knew her husband would never be the same. She could handle his outbursts and rages of temper, even the occasional slap or punch, but it was becoming more difficult to hide Cary from people who had known him for years.

Las Vegas has been their treasure chest—or so they planned. They purchased a house with the settlement money, used the remaining funds for living expenses, and by the time Michele found a part-time job, she was pregnant.

For a few months, they were happy. But it didn't last.

The play room door opened, startling Michele out of her thoughts as the judge entered the play room with a small boy. Her breath caught in her throat as the two walked across the room. The boy—the sparkling green eyes, the soft bouncy hair—mirrored her oldest daughter's eyes and hair. Her gaze moved quickly back to his parents; tears fogged her vision for a few seconds as she confirmed her decision. Silently, she thanked Judge Dorsey. These strangers would be the parents her daughters needed.

Michele watched the exchange between adults and the boy, the boy's approach to the girls, and then a nod, an exchange of a few words, and the man joined the little group playing with the marble maze. She smiled as Rosie, gaining confidence in her ability to walk, took several steps to give Gil Grissom a marble.

A few minutes passed before the door to the room where she sat opened.

Judge Dorsey walked in, holding the door for Sara. "Michele!" He greeted her with a gentle hug before introducing Sara and then arranged chairs so they could sit together and watch the children.

Sara, taking Michele's frail hand between hers, said, "Thank you for meeting with us, Michele." A thousand words had run through Sara's mind before she met Michele; none seemed adequate.

"Thank you for coming." Michele waved her hand toward the window. "You son—Eli—has already made friends."

"He does that easily," Sara said.

Several minutes of silence passed as the three watched the children playing. Eli had given a soft toy to each girl and they were giggling as he pressed hidden buttons for different sounds.

/ /

Judge Dorsey had arrived early at the hospice and found Michele Stevens awake and dressed. Her eyes were focused and bright as they exchanged their usual greetings.

"Are they coming?" Michele asked.

"Your girls are on their way—the Grissom's are coming later. I thought we'd let the girls play, let you watch them for a while."

"They are sweet children, aren't they? I—I want them to be happy, Judge." Michele's eyes closed; her head leaned back into the pillow placed behind her. "I can remember being happy when I was a little girl. I had a playhouse—my dad built it beside the porch."

The judge made a soft chuckle. "These girls will have a playhouse—there is already a tree house in the back yard."

Indicating a large envelope on the table, she said, "I read all the information in the file you brought me—they are good people." Her fingers threaded around the edge of her shirt. "Do they really want two more kids?"

"Oh, yes," Judge Dorsey assured her. "I think this is a gift they never expected. Eli has really thrived—they have a good home, good friends." He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "I think Sara will decide to stay at home—just my thoughts—financially, she can do it—and I think she's ready for a change."

"You've been so kind, Judge. Not everyone would have done what you've done."

Again, softly, he chuckled, "We've had a lot of help, Michele. Not everyone would have made the decisions you have made—I can't imagine—but I think you can be at peace about your daughters."

She nodded. "Will you help me get to the playroom? I don't want them to see me."

"Are you sure you don't want to hold them again, Michele, let them see you?"

Sighing, she shook her head, "No, I've made my decision—they—Caroline and Rosie need to make attachments to their new parents." When the judge raised his eyebrows, she smiled and said, "I've made my decision."

/ /

The silence extended into a much longer pause in conversation than usual as the three adults watched the children. Sara wanted to talk; she wanted to ask Michele about her daughters. She glanced at the judge who seemed to be concentrating on what was happening in the playroom.

Clearing her throat, Sara said, "Your daughters are beautiful."

Softly, Michele said, "I've decided you—you and your husband will be the right parents."

The judge reached and took Michele's hand.

Sara was stunned, unable to speak. She looked from Michele to the judge who silently nodded.

For the first time since Sara entered the room, Michele turned away from the viewing window and looked out a darkened window at the terrace planted with palm trees, bougainvillea, vividly green vines, and yellow daisies. The automatic sprinkler was misting plants and creating rainbows above the wall.

Softly, Michele said, "I want them to laugh and play, maybe go see the ocean one day—and the mountains where there are big trees—forests with lots of birds." She turned back to Sara. "Once I wanted to be an archeologist and go to Mexico, dig in ruins-instead, I married a man who moved dirt with big machines." She smiled, "Isn't that an odd dream for a girl from the middle of Texas? I don't think I've ever met an archeologist!"

The sick woman leaned forward took Sara's hand, saying, "Go meet your daughters—Judge Dorsey promises he can take care of the legal papers."

For Sara, one of those strange and unexpected moments occurred; a secret well of emotions whose existence she denied, seemed to surge from its hidden soul. Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Even as she wiped her face with tissues the judge handed her, tears kept falling, her breath whispering with soft sobs as she attempted to gain control of her feelings. She knew she had not cried like this in years.

At some point, she felt a delicate hand on the back of her head and heard the soft voice of Michele murmuring something in a low voice, repeating the same words over and over: "Everything is going to be fine."

A/N: Thank you for reading; thank you for reviewing. We appreciate hearing from you! Probably one more chapter to this story. Long Live GSR!