Everything they had, they’d built with their bare hands. Anne was a new mother at first, with a sleeping infant held to her breast and hardly much help to him when she had to stop to fuss over their son. Everything that had come after, she’d had every part in. Looking over it all, something swells in her chest. A good kind of ache that is light and lovely, and makes her feel dizzyheaded and giddy. James is in the process of lugging two chairs onto the porch and as Anne shifts their son to a better position on her hip, she is quick to shoot him a grin. “Matchin’ chairs, Jim? We’re really gettin’ old now. Next we’ll have matchin’ blankets fer our laps ‘n matchin’ walkin’ sticks.” / @onlycertainty.













