A HAND PLACED DOWN A PHOTOGRAPH of a twelve-year-old Laura and Robbie, nine — both the Jensen sisters were grinning. Each girl was carrying one of their twin brothers...

It reminded her of her recent sculpture that she made as succor for her future — Lilya Devon-Jensen placed the photo frame face down on the bedside dresser, after recalling the fate of her masterwork that was trampled unequivocal on the ground by her bilious husband.

Lilya was four months pregnant, resting in the room that was once occupied by Roberta while she grew up on Aunt Flo's house in Columbus, Ohio. Outside the window, it was snowing. Her foot was heavily bandaged from the physical torture she suffered in Washington. She looked up across the wall at her own wedding photo and the photo of Roberta receiving the Combat cross medal from the then-Senator Cory — which Roberta’s aunt had put up with veneration of her Jensen clan in the later years.

The door knocked softly — and Aunt Flo came in with a steaming cup of infused herbal beverage. She was concerned...

“Why are you up, can't you sleep, Lil?”

“I slept well, Aunt Flo, how is Emma?”

“She is resting now. I brought you some green tea.” Florence passed her the cup before sitting on a chair by the bed.

Lilya spoke with misbegotten guiltiness...

“I feel so bad to trouble you by coming here. Now you have another person to look after.”

“That is totally nonsense and don't say that, Lilya. We are family — and where else would you go? You did the right thing by coming to us. Come, drink your tea.”

Florence responded back in fulsome — she then glanced at the turned over photo frame at the bureau top when Lilya placed the teacup on the side table. The older woman placed her hand on her own forehead and exclaimed out...

“Oh what was I thinking, I am getting insensible with my age. Sorry dear, this is not the right room for you, to be in to recuperate. It has bad vibes and bitter memories for you — after what you had gone through, you can't rest well in here. Just give me an hour, I will prepare the guest room.”

Lilya reached out and held her arm when Florence rose from the chair...

“No, please don't — this room is fine, Aunt Flo. I want to be in this room — and I want to see the memories of Rob when she was happy...

“But I have made her unhappy and my damaged past that was the cause of her unhappiness.”

Florence Jensen-Rickman moved and sat on the bed, and hugged her while Lilya cried louder...

“I miss Rob so much, I feel like I should take the next flight to Washington — and go and tell her that I am sorry.”

The older woman was stern...

“No Lilya — you have nothing to apologize to her. As long as Laura has been taken away, Robbie will always blame you. Be patient, my dear — and things will get better, once they find Laura.”

“Do you think Rob will accept me someday, Aunt Flo?”

“Even if she does — she should first go and see a shrink, and straighten her life — after all the terrible things she had inflicted to you.”

Lilya stopped crying and Florence stroked her hair.

“Come and drink more tea. I will come back in a couple of hours — so you better get some more rest, dear...

“And Lilya stopped worrying — because you are at home with us. However things turn out, you are always welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Florence kissed her forehead and left the bedroom.

***

She walked in the hallway to the master bedroom. She took a syringe from the dressing table and sat beside, to medicate her baldheaded, wan, husband Emma — who was looking frail and tired. Florence pierced the needle of morphine, into her spouse’s arm while casually conversing...

“Lilya is still upset. She needs to rest more. Let’s hope she will be well before her due delivery date. We will not make the same mistake as we did with Laura — by giving her baby-boy away for adoption. Once Lilya’s twins are born — all the five of us will be living under this roof, as a family soon.

“You too rest, dear. I need to go now and cook dinner.”

She kissed her husband after covering her with a blanket and left the bedroom.

Tears flowed from the once Dr Emma Rickman's eyes — the doctor who treated Laura for years when she was in a coma.

Today, Emma Rickman was dying at home, in her final stage of the battle with colorectal cancer.