Author's Note: You guys should just tell me to stick to one shots. Two months between updates is a rather long time to wait. Anyway, I felt super guilt about reading fanfiction (not this fandom though) and not writing it, so here I am! So, so sorry that I made you wait, if any of you are deciding to give me another chance.

As always, read and review! I love reading your thoughts on my writing! It makes me look at it in a whole new light. I can totally hate something I write and you could say you loved it, which makes me love it. Or I could be in LOVE with something I penned and you could say it wasn't my best effort, and I'll strive to make it better. You guys help me, so please continue to do so.

XOXO,

SLWF

PS. This is incredibly short and totally unedited. All mistakes are mine, and you are welcome (and encouraged) to point them out.

The two made it home safely. Despite how grown up she appeared to be, Samantha was still only three years old, and as such she was covered in ice cream before they made it to the front door. Sarah looked down at her now sticky granddaughter, and laughed.

"Hey, Grammy!" Samantha looked up at her laughing grandmother, rolling her eyes. "It's not funny! This ice cream is all melty!"

"I know, dear," Sarah said, picking Samantha up so she didn't get ice cream all over the house. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay?"

Samantha was silent as Sarah opened the front door and greeted the rest of the family. She knew that it was time for her to get a bath, and she was not happy about the idea. She hated baths. They were awful. And she especially hated to get baths so early in the day, because then she could not get dirty again later. However, she knew that her grammy had made up her mind, and that she would never change it.

"I wish Grampy Chuck was here," she muttered under her breath. "He wouldn't make me take a bath."

Sarah pretended not to hear her though. It was best to just give Samantha a bath, rather than argue with her. For a toddler, she was quite a logical being. She would start saying that it was too early for a bath because she would just go outside and get dirty again, and Sarah was in no mood to argue with her over the point. It would just be a quick bath anyway.

She put the girl down and started to run the bath water, and then she decided to ask Samantha to gather some fresh clothes. If she allowed Samantha to have a little control of the situation, the young girl would cooperate better, or at least that is what Sarah hoped.

Samantha stomped down the hallway, in a silent fit, but she did as she was told. This left Sarah alone to think about her day, and her mind immediately drifted to the letter she was supposed to write.

Busying yourself will not make the letter go away, she told herself. However, she did not mind. She worked well under pressure. Maybe if she ran out of room to procrastinate, she would turn into a poet. I can only hope.

Samantha was back in the bathroom in record time, bearing a fresh outfit. Clean underwear, shorts, and a small tank top. Casual, comfortable, and practical. In this matter, she took after Sarah. Or at least Sarah in her older years.

"Come here," Sarah said, reaching for the squirmy little girl. She tickled her, a method of distraction while she quickly and efficiently rid the child of her sticky clothes. It was a routine of theirs, one both of them enjoyed. In no time, Samantha was in the bathtub.

The little girl scrunched up her nose at her grammy and said, "Why do I always have to get a bath? I wasn't even that dirty!"

Sarah just laughed, "Because, dear, we want you to have good personal hygiene. Besides, you don't like being sticky."

"I know," Samantha said, "but we could have just wiped the ice cream off."

Sarah shrugged, deciding not to discuss this matter with her granddaughter. It never ended well when she did that. Instead, she started to hum as she washed the little girl. Bath time would be over before either one noticed.

Climbing out of the tub, Samantha was quickly wrapped in a clean towel and dried off with another. She always liked this part, after the bath. The towels were soft and fluffy, and her grammy dried her off really gently. Most kids had to deal with robots and giant dryers, much like hair dryers but on a larger scale. Not Samantha, she was lucky. She had a grammy that saw no point in those.

Insisting she could dress herself, Samantha shooed her grammy out of the bathroom as soon as she was dry. This left Sarah to take the dirty clothes and the used towels to the laundry room, a task that was soon complete. With no excuse to put off writing, Sarah made her way to her office. Taking a seat in her desk, she again pondered what she would buy him for their anniversary. And more importantly, what she would write in the letter. She removed her pen from its case, opened it, and hovered it over a piece of her stationary.

Come on, Sarah, she thought. You've been married for 35 years. No matter what you write, Chuck will understand what you mean. You love him. You always have, and you always will.

Pen poised to write, Sarah was ready. She still had not figured out the exact words that she wanted to use, but she was assured that Chuck would love it, just like he loved her. She connected pen and paper, and hoped for the best. She started writing everything that came to her mind, and just like that, words appeared on the page in her perfect cursive handwriting.

Dear Chuck, my love, father of my children, grandfather to our children's children,

You are my life. You are my world. Without you, I don't know if I would be the same person. No, I know I wouldn't be the same person. You make me better. You make me want to be better. These last thirty five years have been –

Sarah was interrupted by a yell coming from the other room. She replaced the cap on her pen and rushed out of her office. The letter would have to wait.