Now that Louisa was around, Mason thought it wise to alert her of his finished amendments. He met her in the conservatory room gazing at the glass roof that confined them from the harsh sun rays with chest folded arms. Mason eye-sculpted her slim and delicate figure as long as she hadn't realized his presence. After his satisfaction, he approached her until he was two arms reach away from her that she turned to him. "I've seen them all," she dryly said. "But there are still some lingering worries I just realized." Louisa tilted her head upwards again and pointed out to the steel rafters, "I want them a little less elevated. This one gives an impression of being in a hollow and sunlight seems reluctant to reach the floor." She lowered her fingers to the steel truss, "I know not much about these things...what do you call them again?" "Truss," he calmly replied. "Yeah, these are not so luring and corresponding. I saw a style that caught my attention.

Mason cried. It was the best shortest moment of his life. The joy he felt was incomparable so much that he slept like a baby for the first time in a week and woke up like a giant the next day. At some point that morning, the words became his password to smile when his breakfast burnt again the fourth time that week, when he hit his little toe against the bed, when the shaving blade cut him, and even when he ran out of fuel on his way to work. "Good morning, Donovan," Michael, a new friend he made on his first day of work and a colleague he shared an office with, said. Tall and lean was a vivid description of him. On his face was a narrow nose with a slightly curved tip, thick-rimmed lenses which slightly magnified his little eyes distantly rested above small lips. Midnight Black was his short impeccably kept curls—typical dork criteria. "Good morning," Mason reflected, "anything new this morning?" "Not yet. Still trying to round up with yester

There were screams of joy, melodious laughter, and a healing sight as half a score, or more, of kids jumped and played. The little table of the kids' buffet was virtually empty as some excited kids helped themselves with cookies whenever they felt like it. A Mickey and Minnie Mouse mascot stood at the entrance gifting each exiting kid a giant thank you message attached lollipop and a square parcel of what looked like more pastries. One could tell that parents will have to deprive their kids of candies in the next month and change their teeth-cleaning routine from two to three times daily. Louisa had no difficulty in spotting Gianna in her little navy blue Lilo and stitch swimsuit still playing on the slide leading to the inflatable pool with the birthday girl and two other friends. It was already 4 pm. Even though the birthday was indicated to end at 3:30, some parents—just like Louisa—decided to sit and watch their children play a little more. "It's soothing to see them that way, i

Tuesday, Dylan hasn't called. When she did, it kept going to the answering machine. That made her wonder why. Perhaps he was too busy. She consoled. She has been having thoughts on seeing Lydia on the matter but regarded it as puerile. It was just two little days. Now that Louisa has known the existence of the chic restaurant a few blocks away, she prepared to leave just to be stopped, upon opening the door, by the word exchange between Nerry and a familiar woman with a sleeping baby in a pram—Lydia.When Lydia turned to her, she smelled something was up. It seemed to her that the girl had cried and was still about to cry at her view. Has Mason broken her heart already? Or has something happened to Dylan? Louisa wondered. "Lydia, come in." Louisa ignored the information-required procedure she was undergoing.Lydia pushed the baby pram into Louisa's office. "Make yourself comfortable." On cue, Lydia set back on crying. Louisa didn't know what to do as she wasn't used to such circums

The lady kept smiling, as she peeled some potatoes on the kitchen island, at her daughter who found pleasure assisting as always. They weren't as expertisely peeled as hers but she was only a kid. An unfortunate four years old who was birthed by a foolish mother and an always absent father to the cold world. She had learned to live that way. The poor thing. She had learned not to ask about him anymore, she had learned to accept that it was just both of them. Together, forever. The skinny woman coughed causing the little girl to pause from her previously dedicated act and as usual, she promptly ran to the sink, mounted a little kitchen stool to fill a glass with water. She handed it to the pale woman who only successfully took in a gulp before coughing again, harsher than before. Too harsh that the little girl, filled with fear and panic, might have wanted to disobey her mother for once and call the doctor. "Mu—" "No," it came out as a muffle as one hand covered her mouth with the o