Life continues as usual.
And yet it doesn't.
She still gets up every morning to make the breakfast; she still presses kisses onto both husband and son; she still cleans the house after they leave. But now she takes her time. After the oh-so-dramatic conversation with her husband, she allows herself to move at a far less taxing pace, allows her joints' aches and pains to be felt, allows herself to relax and move about how she pleased.
Sometimes, if Abraham gets home early enough, he'll aid her with the more difficult chores, such as rehanging the curtains after a wash or dusting the higher-up shelves on the bookcases of the library.
He never says a word of complaint, never rolls his eyes, and does everything without question; it kind of reminds her of when she and Henry were teaching him to tie his shoes, which brings up more than a few amusing memories that make her smile more often, which he seems to find an extreme accomplishment.
Henry quickly insists on doing dinner as soon as he's home, which is startling because she and Abe were just about to start making it, but he quickly sweeps them out of the kitchen and creates a piece of culinary finery that neither of them could hope to make.
She still doesn't go outside often – she drew too much attention to their tiny family – but when she managed to find a prime opportunity, both of her boys offered to skip work for an hour or two so they could have a quick family outing for lunch.
It still wasn't ideal – she and Abe were too old to conceivably be Henry's wife and son – but they made it work as best they could.
Henry wasn't going to give up on this family so easily. And neither would she.
A/N: Blah. My feels hurt because I know how this ends and I don't want it to. DX
~Persephone