Sam's eyes misted over with unshed tears, as he cuddled into his bed sheets. The seven-year old's eyes watched his mother's every move, and his ears listened and hung onto every single word.

"Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both" read Mary, in a clear voice, as she sat on the end of her youngest son's bed.

She then closed the book slowly. Mary cherished times like this with her boys, especially Sam, who had inherited her bookworm attitude.

"Charlotte was a real hero" sniffled Sam.

Mary smiled at her son, warmly, and stroked his shaggy hair. Tears dropped down the little boy's face.

"Why the tears, honey?" she asked, gently.

Sam sniffled again, before wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He hiccupped several times before he regained his voice.

"Charlotte never got to see her babies grow up" he mumbled, through his tears.

Mary pulled her son into a cuddle, wincing slightly as she did so. It wasn't the first time Sam cried at the end of this particular book. Sam hugged his mother back, resting the side of his face on her huge bump. He could feel his unborn sibling squirming around from inside his mother's stomach.

"Oh, sweetie, it's just a story," she reminded him, softly. "I've told you before, it didn't actually happen. It's not real."

Sam hiccupped once more.

"I know," he mumbled. "I shouldn't be sad. It's my birthday tomorrow."

He gazed up at his mother, his hazel eyes although still glazed with tears, were full of excitement for his birthday party.

"You're still gonna make my birthday cake, right?" asked the little boy, hopefully. "You promised you would."

Mary petted her son's head with one hand, whilst the other rested on her bulging bump. Her unborn baby was more active than ever, forever kicking and moving around. A sharp pain would enter her system ever once and a while.

"I'll try my best, Sammy," replied Mary. "Anyway, it's time for bed now. You've got a big day tomorrow. Soon to be eight-year-old boys need their rest."

She kissed her son on the forehead, and smoothed down his hair once more. Mary then slowly travelled to the other side of the bedroom. She repeated the same action to Dean, who had passed out half an hour ago. The book was then placed back on the bookcase.

"Goodnight boys, angels are watching over you" whispered Mary, before dimming the light and closing the door, leaving it ajar.

Mary then waddled down the hallway, and carefully made her way downstairs. She was struggling by this point in her pregnancy. Her back pain was getting worse, and her ankles ached. John turned the volume down on the TV, as his wife appeared in the doorway to the living area. She looked incredibly uncomfortable. There were tiny beads of sweat gathering on her forehead.

"Are you alright, hon?" queried John, with a frown of deep concern, as he got out of his spot on the couch. "You've been looking a little off these past few hours."

Mary leaned heavily against the door frame, one hand acted as support, whilst the other pressed against her sore back. She gritted her teeth, as she was struck by pain again.

"Fetch your Grandma, and get her to watch the boys" she remarked, calmly yet firmly.

John's dark eyes went wide and his mouth dropped slightly.

"Is it time?" he asked.

The moment Mary nodded, John was on the telephone in an instant.

"Grandma?" said John, trying to keep calm.

"John? What's the meaning of this? Waking up an old lady at this hour?" came the voice of the cantankerous elder.

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Grandma, it's only nine fifteen" he remarked with a heavy sigh.

"Precisely, and you know that I always go to bed at nine o'clock sharp," replied Christina. "So, may I ask why you got your poor Grandmother out of her nice bed?

John gazed back at his heavily pregnant wife, who was now proceeding with her breathing exercises that she learned at her Lamaze classes.

"The baby's coming, Mary's in labour," he announced. "I need you to watch the boys while we go to the hospital."

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed the elder. "I might be eighty-seven-years-old, but by golly, I will be ready to go, so you don't need to worry about me. Just focus on your wife, John. Make sure she's comfortable. I'll see you soon, John."

Sooner than Mary expected, John returned with his grandmother within the space of twenty minutes. John reckoned he violated several traffic laws, due to the panicked rush he was in.

"Calm down, John," chided Mary, as she paced up and down the hallway, her hands on her aching back. "You'd think this was our first child."

Christina nodded in agreement, as she made her way to Mary, balancing on her walking stick for guidance and stability.

"I tried telling him that too, Mary," she commented. "Listen to your wife, John. You'll end up in the hospital bed next to her if you end up fainting. You've clearly not learned your lesson from the last two times."

All the commotion downstairs had woken Dean. He had always been a light sleeper compared to Sam. He appeared at the top of the stairs. The older boy blinked at the sight of his great grandmother and his parents gathered in the downstairs hallway.

"What's going on? Is everything ok?" he asked, his eyes still somewhat bleary from sleep.

Mary gazed up at him, and signalled for him to come downstairs, as she was physically unable to at this present time. Dean was at his mother's side in an instant, after being scolded by his great grandmother for making too much noise.

"Everything is fine, sweetheart," she said, with a strained smile. "Nana Christina is staying her to watch over you and Sammy for the time being. You're Dad and I need to go to the hospital."

Dean rubbed his eyes. Then suddenly, all sense of exhaustion disappeared when he realised what was going on.

"Is the baby coming now?!" he interrupted.

When his mother nodded, Dean let out a short cackle.

"Is Sammy gonna be sharing a birthday with the new baby?" he grinned, mischievously.

"It looks like it, buddy" added John.

Dean laughed once more. He had been teasing Sam for the last few weeks about the high chance of him having to share a birthday, a fact of life that Sam was not keen on.

"He's gonna be mad as hell," remarked Dean, only to earn a clip around the back of the head from Christina. "Ouch!"

"Language!" scolded the old lady.

Mary shook her head and rolled her eyes, yet her demeanour remained relaxed. John knew that would soon change. He always joked that Mary had a pretty piss poor pain threshold.

Dean was then instructed to fetch his mother's hospital bag, that she had already prepared, just in case. As John guided his wife towards the front door, Mary stopped.

"Oh no, Sammy's birthday cake," she declared, feeling an overwhelming sensation of guilt. "I promised to make him one. And what about his party?"

John grabbed a small dark red notebook from the small table, under the telephone, and quickly stuffed it into the hospital bag. He returned to his wife, and began to rub her back, in an act of comfort.

"I'll sort the business with the party," he replied. "It'll have to be postponed for now. He'll just have a belated birthday party. I'll call the parents of his friends and let them know."

Christina wobbled forward on her stick.

"I'll make him a birthday cake, Mary," she offered, to which Dean grimaced behind her back. "That boy will still have a birthday to celebrate, don't you worry."

It would be a dried fruit cake. A terrible dried fruit cake. Yet the boys would dare not speak out against it, or else they would suffer a lecture from their Nana Christina. Since she lived through two world wars and the Great Depression, she claimed to know what was best and what was right.

Mary gasped, as she was hit with another contraction.

"Alright, sweetie, let's go" said John, leading his wife outside. "Grandma, I'll call when there's any news."

Mary groaned, as she eased herself into her car seat, barely managing to put the safety belt on.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Your getting snipped."

Guess the book Mary was reading Sam...

Stay tuned!

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