Mother’s Day.
Kit doesn’t quite know whether or not he and his wife are considered parents yet-- their child is due any day now, and she’s been on bed rest for weeks. Technically, he supposes, it will be their first mother’s day as parents; their child will be more or less walking and talking like a little person by the time the next one comes around.
Nevertheless, the young monarch enters his beloved wife’s bed chambers so early in the morning that the sun is not yet up; with him, he carries a bouquet of wildflowers, the lovely violet ones that Ella always says are pretty. She is sleeping, still-- but he will creep into her bedroom, lay the flowers on the night-stand, and crawl gingerly into her bed. “Happy Mother’s Day,” comes a sleepy murmur, hands snaking over a rotund belly. “Rise and shine, my love.”
