Chapter – 16 Michonne

"You are the sunshine of my life, 

That's why I'll always be around,

You are the apple of my eye

Forever you'll stay in my heart…"

This song… the soundtrack to so many days of my life. Mike's baritone crooning the words to me on numerous nights as I lay in his arms, head to his heart. Our second night in Hawaii when I figured out I was pregnant with Andre. Him so ecstatic, holding me, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist as he sang to his yet to be born son, snuggled in the warmth of my belly. And to Andre, hugged securely against his chest, sharing the warmth of his love the day he was born. When he learned to walk. His first day of school. Every time he crawled into bed with us after having a nightmare. Andre was in fact the center of Mike's world. The sunshine of his life. His love revolved around Andre, right up until the end, that fact remained. Despite how I felt about Mike, or the missteps he has made. Or how bristly and tense filled things were between him and Rick, it was the purest and most honest part of Mike. The song's words falling from his lips as he lay in the hospital bed, Andre's hand in his, his time coming to an end. Bidding farewell to the sunshine of his life, at the sunset.

How poetic that these are the words that haunt my own lips on this day. A comforting enchantment to hopefully soothe my son's hurt. A familiar incantation to satisfy his pain. My fingers play over the tight kinky coils of his hair, rolling them in even tighter spirals the same way I did for his father once upon a time. In the quiet of this moment, a pang of sadness hits me solidly in the chest to acknowledge the man my son has become. A near perfect duplicate of his father.

As he fell asleep here in my lap, crying over the loss of his father, a day that we all knew was sure to come, he was my baby again. My soft squishy little prince. A round ball, the same deep brown as a Hershey's kiss. And it breaks my heart. All of it. That my baby, who kept a faithful vigil at his father's bedside for a week straight as he devolved into the ethereal space that would deliver him to his next existence, had to say goodbye to his father so soon. So close to the holidays. The memory forever tied to Thanksgiving. Giving thanks. How ironic.

5 days ago…

"I'm sorry, Dre."

"Don't be sorry, Dad." Andre mumbles through his sobs, muffled by his father's shoulder, his voice a soft wisp, hardly caught by my ears. 

Turning his head and winking at me, a brief glimpse of the old Mike peeks through the sickness that stands at death's door, ready to usher him away. "I'm so sorry, Michonne. I didn't do right by you, and I'm sorry. My Chonne. I will always love you."

If this were almost a year ago I would have bristled at his brazen flirtations in front of Rick, but not right now. Now in this moment of bidding a final goodbye to the man I once loved, who claims to still love me. I can say the words back with true love in my heart. Because of Rick. When Spencer almost took him from me so many months ago, and I saw my world almost end in that moment, I thought I would die, I should die right then as well. How could I live without him?

But Rick reminded me, that while we could have lost each other then, we would at some point, and that we would lose those we love, we didn't on that day. The prescient eeriness of the firm certainty in his words then, strike me so harshly today. He was right. I still had him. We still had life, and because of that all of the small things, the stupid things, felt so inconsequential. We still had the unlimited possibility of life, and that was so much more than what Spencer had. Than what Mike has. We still had our second chance to make the most of this life, and that's what I decided to do. 

On that day, I set my heart that had hardened to the very thought of Mike, to soften. To take this time to let things settle between us. To peacefully say farewell to what was, so I could make room for what is. 

I grip my husband's hand for strength, then nod in acceptance of the offered expression of love. But the return of them died in my throat before I could even begin to utter the offering. Wiping at the tears cresting in my eyes, I roll them in exasperation, and an unsuccessful attempt to stem the flow before they even get started. 

Lifting a single finger to point towards where Rick and I are seated at the other end of his hospice room, near the foot of his bed, Mike gives off a weak, dry chuckle, the sound of which rattles on a sick, wet cough in his thin chest. "Rick… I still hate you, man. But, my boy loves you. You make Michonne happy. You gave them everything I couldn't. I respect that. Take care of them better than I did."

"You got it, man. I will." Rick promises, his hand tightening around mine. His voice clear and steady, the certainty in it unwavering. A thickening of emotion choking him as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

Inclining his head slowly, a subtle gesture of acceptance, Mike then drops his eyes to our son, and whispers, "Dre…?"

A beat passes, but Andre doesn't answer his father. His head remains buried on his shoulder, his body sadly hunched and splayed across Mike, as though he would protect him from what comes next. Instead of responding he just lays there, sobbing, absorbing these last moments with his father. Allowing himself to be present right here, right now, just as Rick and I advised him to do when we got the call from the hospice caregiver only a few hours ago, that Mike was probably not going to last through the night. 

It was a call that broke my heart, instantly causing a slight seizing pang of despair to injure my chest as I reached to gently lay my baby girl down in her crib next to her sister. The pain ebbing through my body wasn't for me, as I have been grieving the loss of my first love ever since he told me he was dying nearly eight months ago. No. It was because of what this is doing to Andre. My son, trying so hard to deal with his father's impending death with the maturity that he does not yet fully possess, even while feeling happiness at the the birth of his twin sisters. How interesting that their birth two months ago brought such emphatic joy, while Mike's passing is the opposite. It even strikes me that while these arrivals and departures exist on the polar opposites of life's spectrum, their physical existence is so similar. My baby girls needing so much care and attention. My ex-husband now weak and frail, requiring the same.

"Dre…?" Nuzzling his chin into Andre's hair, Mike closes his eyes and allows his own emotions to rise and make themselves plain. The billowing streams drift down his once handsome face, now ravaged by the disease that has overtaken his body, made him gaunt, thin. They land in the soft, dark cottony zig-zag tufts of my son's hair, sinking into the thick mass like rain replenishing the earth. 

Watching the anguish play over Mike's face as he seemingly comes to grips with this, his final goodbye to his son, waiting to see if Andre will answer his call, I can't help but rise from where I'm seated next to Rick, and take Mike's hand that is slowly dragging up and down Andre's back. I lace my fingers with his longer ones, and place them together on Andre's form, jerking with the fit of his tears. 

With his eyes still closed, Mike clears his throat, drawing on a final reserve of strength, he tries to talk to Andre again. "Hey, Dre, remember this? You are the sunshine of my life, that's why I'll always be around, you are the apple of my eye, forever you'll stay in my heart…" Mike's voice barely carries the tune in the same way his deep, rich voice used to, but his intent remains the same. He wants Andre to know. To remember. 

"Dre, I love you, little man. I'm leaving now, but you aren't. Ok? Remember that, Dre. Your mama and I made you out of a love so true and pure… and don't you ever forget that. You are pure love, Dre, the living legacy of every hope and dream I ever had for a life with her and with you. Take care of her, take care of yourself, Dre. You're a good man, and you have so much life in you, so much possibility. I know you are going to be sad, but I want you to remember that where there is life, there is possibility and love. And for the rest of your life, you have your daddy's love. Always. Your mama loves you. Rick loves you. Don't ever forget that. Promise me that. Ok?"

"Yes, Dad. I love you. I'm going to miss you…"

"Me too, little man. But you are the sunshine, Dre. You are the light and the love that lived between me and this fine, brown skinned honey I met one day on campus. And she changed my life. You changed my life. I leave this world knowing that you are going to be better than me in every way because you have the sunshine in you to do it. You have the best mother there is. And Rick. And your brother Carl. And your two new little sisters. And a whole village of people who love you, and you have me… Forever, past my last breath, little man. Forever."

Present day…

"You must have known that I was lonely,

Because you came to my rescue,

I know that this must be heaven,

How could so much love, be inside of you?"

"Is he awake?"

"Hm?" startled from the song I was singing I look up from my son's head cradled on the edge of what's left of my lap, to find my husband standing in the door with a plate of food in one hand, and baby Zoey in the other, a small smile gracing his pink lips. I shake my head, and release a breath I didn't even realize I was holding as I rocked and patted the back of our other baby girl as she sleeps on my chest. "No. He's still out. I see someone else is up though." I sniff, shifting a little to lean my weight back on the headboard, bringing baby Isabel up closer to my shoulder.

"Yeah, she woke up when my mother tried to lay her down. She's so spoiled already. They both are really. I'm talking about my mother and father, not the babies." He bobs his head a little as he chuckles at his own wit. Glancing down at the downy soft curls covering the head of our baby girl in wisps, Rick bounces her gently with one arm against his chest, and gives me that characteristic grin of his. "But, I'm glad he's still getting some rest. It's been a long tiring day."

"It's been a long couple of months."

"Yeah." Rick agrees on a long mumble, drawing the word out, his heavy southern accent carrying the last of it deep in his throat. Leaning with his shoulder pressed against the frame as the hand not holding the plate, gently pats at the frills of the pants covering Zoey's diapered bottom, the drain of the last few months is starting to show on his handsome face in the dark rings settling in around the wells of his eyes, and the worry carried in their sharp focus.

When we say it has been a long couple of months, that is a serious understatement. Brushing so closely to the narrow swipe of death's scythe, reaping souls for the afterlife, what remains of our lives has been forever changed. In a positive way. A desire to experience every breath, every brief second together is no longer acute. It is now a chronic well of need that we draw from constantly. It drives every decision. A constant bargain with the universe for just a little more time together. We are reminded of that deal even more so today as we gather for Thanksgiving, while also hosting Mike's family as we say goodbye to him. He passed away a few days ago, and following his wishes to be cremated, we also decided to help bridge the gap between our families, and invite his parents and siblings to the new house for Thanksgiving.

My parents were confused by the choice, especially given the fact that I just gave birth to the girls two months ago, that I have never been a favorite of Mike's family, and that the feeling is certainly mutual. But, as I watched the energizing power of life escape my ex-husband's body, as he succumbed to death, and promised our son his eternal love, I knew that I had to do whatever I could to make this time just a little less painful for Andre. With Rick's agreement and support, I made the offer to the Anthonys, and with complete shock and surprise, they accepted. But like Mike said, where there is life there is possibility. Between the Anthonys and I, I hope there is the possibility of reconciliation. Forgiveness. If only for Andre.

It's a lesson that I learned after Rick shot Spencer Monroe and our world was turned upside down by the scramble to suffocate the scandal, and survive the apocalyptic fallout. It had the potential to present the most damaging of cataclysmic endings for my husband, but regardless of whatever seeds of distrust had implanted themselves in our relationship prior to that moment, I had Rick's back. There was never a question as to whether or not I was with my husband. I'm always with him, and with that resolve I brushed aside petty squabbles of people and things wholly inconsequential. Jessie. Shane. Lori. Mike. Spencer. Money. My case. His house.

In the brief moments that dragged through the sequence of Deanna Monroe's offering of hush money, everything was once again so clear. So simple. Rick and I hadn't journeyed this far separately and together, through life's obstacles to be taken down the path of any road other than the one that leads to a fulfilling life together. Whichever of life's ruinous quandaries thought it could break apart what binds us, was sadly mistaken.

As we laid in Rick's hospital bed that fateful night, an unspoken pact of forgiveness was forged. We would fix all things broken, walk through this fire and come out the other end, hand in hand, unscathed. Whatever it took for us to survive together, we would do it.

That next morning when we left the hospital, we made a brief stop at Rick's house, and without even needing to utter a word between us, he politely let Jessie know that if she was buying the house she had 30 days to do so. Otherwise, she would need to vacate the property. There were no pleading theatrics on Jessie's part. No gnashing of teeth, or weepy doe eyes strategically plucked from her bag of tricks to attempt to elicit sympathy from either Rick or myself. I don't know why she didn't even try. I was even a little disappointed that she didn't. I felt robbed of the thrill of watching her face fall as I skillfully recalled her previous day's thinly veiled, and false, accusations of infidelity on Rick's part.

No, she must have sensed that there was something different about Rick and I that morning, standing on the doorstep with our hands tightly clasped together, fingers woven. Or perhaps it was the stone like set of Rick's jaw. The cool fix of his blue stare. The direct finality in his commanding words, directed to her in that clipped, acerbic way of his that brooks no argument. Honestly, I had to admit to myself that there was a resolve about him, something fresh and new emanating from him. A power and confidence in his mannerisms, the way he set about remediating any threats to our happiness. It was…arousing to watch him setting things right in our world. So much so, that I had to remind myself that he had just been shot so as not to jump his bones as soon as we made it back home to the city.

After a few short cycles of negotiations around the associated settlement, things quieted down for us just enough for us to think. To refocus. To link arms and figure out how to move forward. Rick and I decided together that he would take the money Deanna offered. It wasn't an easy choice, as I did not trust the terms of the contract, and I certainly didn't trust Deanna Monroe or the double talk she tried to use when she delivered the settlement to Rick and I in his hospital room as he recovered from the bullet wound her son lodged in my husband's hip. But I redrafted a better settlement, one that may have still stifled Rick's ability to speak about what he knew about King County and its corruption, but that did not do the same for anyone else who may have been a witness to the various inequities KC was known for. This allowed a legal team from my firm to follow up with some contacts at the justice department to pursue an investigation into the small town, and reach out to some of the deputies and townspeople who after hearing of what Spencer did to their beloved sheriff, were happy to tell what they knew. And for Rick, with his resignation taking effect the moment he signed the papers, he was free from the burden of being dragged down by the albatross of the town's indiscretions.

The majority of the money from the settlement was put away in a trust for the kids, with a little put aside for Rick to do something that put him back in touch with the sport he loved. He started the Atlanta Elite Baseball Academy here in Atlanta, serving some of the poorest children in the city. It's a program for young kids, athletes, who may have never considered baseball, but with a little coaching and guidance, are able to take their raw talent to the next level in a safe and fun way.

I don't think in our time together I have ever seen him as happy about being a sheriff as he is about working with his kids. And that's what he calls them. His kids. Not only teaching them the game of baseball, the mechanics of throwing a slider, or a proper cutter that breaks a little towards the pitcher's glove over the plate. Or how to recognize a curveball coming out of the pitcher's hand, to make the proper batting adjustment. But also about what it takes to be a pitcher, to lead, to have emotional toughness, to channel that bite of aggression that can cause scorching damage, or be the edge needed for success. And for some of these young kids who may be missing a male role model at home, it's a lesson on how to be a man.

I'm so proud of what he has been able to accomplish, getting an 8U team of eleven boys up and running this past spring with only a few weeks under his belt. With everything being free for the players and their families, from the uniforms to the equipment and the training, running the academy has become a family endeavor with not only my firm sponsoring the team, but also with Andre and Carl helping out as assistant coaches. Carl was probably the more helpful of the two given his own extensive history playing baseball for the majority of his life with his father coaching him, but Andre has surprisingly taken to it as well. Even though he protested at first, noting that he doesn't like or know anything about baseball, he had a lot to contribute to these young boys who look up to him in a way. Maybe they see their future selves in him, another young black guy. Who knows, either way he spends almost as much time at the new facility we bought for indoor training, as he does with Cyndie, and that in of itself is quite surprising.

What's even more surprising is that I helped as well. I literally know nothing about baseball, but as Coach G's wife I tried my best to at least understand the basics. And that's all I got. The basics. I cheered when I saw the kids do well, and I heckled the umpires when they made bad calls. It's the least I could do. Rick seemed to think it was cute, and said he appreciated my support, but that when he looked in the stands and saw me sitting there in the sun, it was distracting because I was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen with my swollen tummy stuffed in the pinstriped red, white and blue team jersey, little maternity shorts, and my dreads pulled into a ponytail underneath a blue and red ball cap. I was so big I could barely drag myself to the stands, so I don't know if he was delusional from all that sun or what, but I took the compliment.

As we entered the summer full on, and I retired from work almost entirely, only handling a few business matters here and there as they came, I found myself in my husband's team t-shirts and jerseys quite often. They had become my unofficial summer wardrobe, as they were both comfortable and practical, though I lamented that nothing short of being completely nude seemed to help with the summer heat. Especially the bigger I got.

Heading towards fall, at 36 weeks along, no one, even the doctor, expected I would make it that far before delivering, taking into consideration how big I was. In those last few weeks and days I was so miserable, and hot. My feet hurt, and were pretty much hidden from my view underneath the large tummy I lugged around. I moved slow, and waddled with every step, and every labored breath. While I thought I looked like a stuffed turkey, Rick asserted that I got more beautiful with each pound. He could barely keep his hands off me, often volunteering to rub my tummy with cocoa butter, or his hands simply finding their way to palm my bump at all times of the day and night. There were many mornings when I would wake with his calloused hands gently massaging my stomach. Since we had both taken to sleeping in the nude, the inconvenience of nightgowns too much of an irritant these days given that my temperature was always running hot, and the urge to frequently pee was driving me insane, this was a normal occurrence. Rick's hands and fingers, his lips on me. In me. Gifting me with soft caresses, tiny affectionate kisses. His love an ever present blanket of warmth, caring, support. His libido growing each day, commensurate with the swell of my stomach.

It was these little things, along with the couples counseling that have helped so much over the last few months when things between Rick and I have gotten better, our marriage growing stronger. Listening to Rick explain his issues opened my eyes, and helped give me a better understanding of who my husband was, and what motivated him to keep so many secrets from me. Part of it was him finding out how wealthy I am, and wondering where that left him. Was he still a provider if there was nothing he could give me that I couldn't give myself? Mike showing back up, and making it no secret that he wanted me back, and that he was the kind of man, a man with means, that I was used to. Hearing him detail the web of mistrust he, Lori and Shane had been spinning around each other since high school, and how he realized early on that she was probably not faithful to him. How he even questioned Carl's parentage when he first found out she was pregnant, because of the lies around her supposed first pregnancy that pulled him in, and the fact that her and Shane always still seemed so…familiar. When Carl was born looking exactly like Rick as a baby, he breathed a sigh of relief, and things settled between he and Lori. Until they didn't.

Lastly, it hurt me to see how even I was culpable somewhat for making him question my dedication to him as he recognized what I had been through with Mike, and halfheartedly expected that I would too easily walk away from him if I ever truly knew the extent of his emotional baggage. Emotional baggage that he eventually learned was equal in weight to my own. Emotional baggage that I had been trying to shed by jumping into this relationship with him, hopefulness, cautious optimism driving me to throw my worries to the wind. Until they blew back in my face and enticed me to harbor a few secrets of my own.

And there we were, expecting twins, married, a new house, all built atop two people who, despite the luggage filled with the bones of our past, were eager to be together. Who wanted nothing and no one more. So, with words of honest regret, and a final plea of forgiveness, we did what we promised we would after the shooting, and we moved to a fix. To make every day together an exploration of each other. To bind our lives with an earnest vow to communicate, to listen, and to learn. Once we had that foundation down, and followed the doctor's advice to stop apologizing, blaming, and wallowing in the memory of past lives, it was like a window had been opened. Ushering in a fresh perspective. A new lease on a new life.

Mornings felt new. We looked upon each other, and this marriage, these babies as the gift they were to us both, and with renewed interest. It was the end of one part of our journey, and the beginning of another.

I went into labor in the middle of one of summer's last hurrah days. A mid-September afternoon, the day before Rick's birthday…

2 months ago…

"Ma, are you cheating again? Where did you get that last Wild Card from?"

"How dare you accuse me of cheating? Do I have the face of a woman who would cheat her own sons at a silly card game?" I scoff, and laugh haughtily, pretending to be offended as I try to dismiss their charges. 

"Yeah, Mom, you do." Andre deadpans, not even bothering to pretend that he and Carl don't know that I cheat at Uno all the time. I hate losing to these boys. They gloat. Stick the cards to their foreheads, then obnoxiously slap them on the table. It's ridiculous! I'm too competitive to just let them beat me without a fight, so I've taken to cheating. Yeah I might pilfer a Wild Card or two under my belly bump for when I need it. And yes I have been busted feigning a contraction or waddling off to the bathroom in an effort to try and sneak a peek of everyone else's cards. Rick thinks I'm shameless and I don't even care. 

"Well I'm appalled right now. Really, I am." Shaking my head I sneakily inch my hand underneath my belly to access the hidden red Draw Two card, which I quickly slide into my hand for later. Sensing the familiar urge to pee, I begin pushing myself up from my patio chair. Immediately Carl and Andre are there, each taking a hand to assist me. It's almost second nature now, and they both know that if Rick catches them not helping me they will be in big trouble, and in for a nice long lecture on how a man tends to a woman. 

Padding my bare feet across the stone patio, and into the welcome cool breeze as I enter the house, I notice Rick, with his back to me, standing at the island cutting vegetables to put on the grill for later. He's so handsome, my husband, in his new uniform consisting of t-shirts and shorts or jeans. Today it's khaki shorts, flip flops, and a white t-shirt that's straining across his broad back, the sleeves snug around his biceps as they flex in response to the cutting motion. Rick is a golden boy now from spending so many days in the sun, coaching baseball. The hairs on his tanned forearms seem to have even taken on a different hue as well, maybe a dark blond. Chocolate curls dust along the collar of his t-shirt. He needs a haircut, but with the freedom of not working in an office all day, he doesn't appear to be in a rush to the barber any time soon. I'm not complaining. I love to run my hands through them. Twirl the soft silk around my fingers. 

Gliding up behind him, easing my arms around his lean waist. Resting my hands in a wide spread on his rock like abs, I push my big belly into his back.

"Hey there, handsome." I whisper into the curls at his nape, savoring the woodsy talc scent of his cologne.

Continuing to cut the vegetables, Rick's muscles tense at my touch, then slouch and relax against me. Pressing his body back a little, welcoming the press of our babies into him. "Hello, Mrs. Grimes. What are you doing in here? Aren't you supposed to be outside cheating at Uno with the boys?"

"Excuse me?" I tilt my head to the side, catching his eyes behind his black rimmed glasses, as he turns to look at me over his shoulder. 

That mischievous smirk of his tugs at his lips. "Everyone knows you cheat, Michonne. We all just love you too much to really care."

"Humph! I don't know what you're talking about." I pout, pulling away from him, but not getting far because he has a hold of one of my hands in his. 

"Don't pout." 

"I'm not pouting. I just can't believe you guys would accuse me of cheating." Shaking my head, I'm trying really hard to sell my disappointment. But Rick's not buying what I'm selling. Not at all.

"Don't pout. You try to be sneaky, but your sneaky isn't very good."

"I plead the fifth."

Biting down on his pink bottom lip, the timbre of his voice drops into that deep familiar register. The one that causes his pronunciation to drag the out his words in that characteristically southern way of his. It always signals trouble. My favorite kind. "That's ok. You're sexy when you pout. You know that?"

Hand on my hip, I'm pushing my lips out into an exaggerated twist, and a sassy cock of my head. I roll my eyes at him calling me out on my cheating and my pouting. Forgetting about the vegetables altogether, and turning fully to me, he begins swiping his thumb back and forth over the back of one hand. His gaze falls from my eyes to focus on my lips as he reaches out to thumb over them, then continues to fall downwards. First stopping at where my fingers play with the gold 'M' charm on the necklace Andre and Carl gifted me for Mother's Day. Then to my breasts, high and full in the opening of my tank top, nearly spilling out in soft hefts over the neckline. Finally, his blues end their voyage downwards, ending on my uncovered belly hanging over the waistband of my maxi skirt. It's a mound of roundness now, and with my belly button popped out, Rick said it looks like a chocolate sundae with a cherry on top. His favorite.

Sweeping his clear blue eyes back up to mine, he easily spins us around, to where my back is now resting against the granite topped island. Cupping my chin, he leans in and kisses me. Soft at first, his own plush lips peck at and tease my own. The short brown and grey bristles of his beard tickle my face and lips, a sensation that sets me on fire before his kiss can fully consume me. Sucking at the top, then the bottom, he angles his head and thrusts his tongue gently into my mouth, taking advantage of how pliable I am under his kiss.

Rick's hand moves from my own, and inches around me, to grab a handful of my wide, full bottom. He hungrily groans into my mouth, grasping and clutching his large hands into the flesh of my ass, pulling me into his body. The sound of him groaning, and the mastery of his tongue and lips commanding my pleasure, causes me to whimper in airy puffs into the sweetness of his mouth, laced with just a hint of the bitter hops from the beer he must have been drinking. I can tell by the tangy citrus that it's the craft beer he and Morgan have begun brewing in the small add on distillery in the back of him and Jenny's restaurant. Another of his new life's endeavors that have caused me to teasingly brand him an official hipster. Which he vehemently denies. 

My breasts are heaving against his chest, as Rick's mouth greedily roams from my lips to the sensitive spot below my ear, then to suckle with a firm grasp of his lips and flick of his tongue at my throat. "Michonne, babe, we should go upstairs. Now." Rick bites out, his graveled voice laced in the same passion and lust that has him grinding his stiff cock into my hip.

Tossing my head back to give him better access to me, jutting my heaving breasts in offering to his growling beast, I suddenly sense a dull aching pain radiating from my back and down. Wincing just a little, I close my eyes for a moment, gathering my wits about me as the pain continues in an ebb and flow, causing my muscles to twitch and tense. An introduction of the blunt pain, and then relief. 

Pinching handfuls of his soft spun cotton t-shirt into my palms, I brace myself against the sudden discomfort, and inch away from Rick. 

"Michonne? What's wrong?"

Blowing out a long breath, I drop my head, chest to chin, head resting at his collarbone. And then I can really feel it. The bunching tightness in my abdomen. It's been 16 years since I've experienced this pain, but I know it. I've been expecting it. Welcome it even as the days of my pregnancy have stretched into the 36th week, well past the 34-week timeframe that the doctor thought more likely. "Ah… Oooh…"

"Hey, babe, is it the girls? Braxton-Hicks again?"

Sucking my lips between my teeth, I grind out a quick response. "No! Nope… I-"

"Ma? You coming back out to play or nah?" Carl calls from the door of the French doors that lead to the patio.

"Ca-"

His hurried footsteps rush over to where Rick and I are, and I glance up momentarily to find him and Andre standing next to Rick, alarm dragging their faces down into worried frowns. 

"Mom! What's going on?" Andre questions, characteristic concern for me lighting his eyes that are frantically trying to find mine. Looking up at him, wanting to ease his worry, I remember that he's grown comfortable over this past year. Not always so on alert, on guard to be protector. He's gratefully handed that job over to Rick, but right now he looks as though he's ready to step back into his role as my bodyguard. Grabbing a hold of my hand, he questions again, "Mom, are you ok?"

"Ye-yes, Andre. I- I think…" A stiff huff escapes between my lips, as I try to focus my thoughts and my words through the pain, "I'm in labor."

"Ma! You're in labor? Dad, she's in labor!" Carl exclaims over his shoulder as he dashes towards the stairs, his reflex to do something taking over. 

Rick rubs his hands soothingly up and down my arms. Propping my weakening form up against him, he begins to bark out orders to the boys. Everyone knows the drill. We've gone over it numerous times as the days of my pregnancy began their snail's pace towards these last few days. The culmination of this miraculous, and unexpected experience. "Andre, go get the keyfob, and pull your mother's truck out of the garage. Pull it around front. I'm going to bring her out that way. It'll be easier." Andre gives him a quick nod of his head, then runs out towards the garage.

"Rick…! Oh! Oh!"

"Michonne, hey babe, you're doing great! You're doing amazing! Carl! Grab your mother's bag, and my wallet! Let's go!"

As the pain continued to grow sharper, more insistent, I doubled over into Rick's waiting arms. The pressure building and increasing in intensity. For a moment it was as if almost all of my senses had been dulled. I could only feel. Somewhere in the distance I knew that Andre was and Carl were following Rick's orders. And right in front of me, Rick was trying to help distract me from the pain by rubbing my shoulders, and kissing at my face. But as I continued to be bombarded with the shockingly sharp cramps to my abdomen, I began to move further from my connection to what was happening around me. It was all happening like some ethereal, out of body experience. The pain was too much. Too overwhelming for me to even actually anchor it to real life. 

Sweating, my legs loose, too limber to even hold me up, I felt the strong massage of his hands cease their ministrations. 

With that devil may care grin of his, he leaned down into my face, his breath somehow calming me enough to focus my gaze on him. "Now you've added going into labor to cheat at Uno, Michonne?"

"Rick…" I groaned, not finding the same humor that he seems to be finding in my predicament at the moment. 

"Come on, mama. Let's get you to the hospital." Throwing my arms around his neck, I breathed a sigh of relief at no longer having to try and hold myself up on my legs, as Rick hoisted up me into his arms. 

From there it all went so fast, with Carl who had just gotten his license a few short months ago, remaining calm and burning rubber in my truck to get us to the hospital in a mind blowing fifteen minutes. This was the first and only time I wouldn't scold him for cutting a thirty-minute drive in half by driving way over the speed limit. Andre rode shotgun, peering back and forth between the road disappearing briskly as Carl directed the truck to the hospital, and to the backseat where Rick held my form, wracked with the quick succession of painful contractions, cradled in his lap.

Once we got to the hospital my contractions were so close together, I probably could have delivered in the elevator on the way upstairs if I had pushed, but somehow these girls and I held out until I actually got into a delivery room. Within twenty minutes of arrival, and after only a few strong pushes that completely zapped every inch of energy I could muster, my husband's eyes grew larger as he held my hand and watched his daughters enter the world. Rick and I welcomed two of the prettiest baby girls I had ever seen. 

Zoey Amanda Grimes came first, entering the world with a wild flourish of flailing arms and legs, and an equally wild holler to boot. Isabelle Nia Grimes came shortly after, a little plumper in comparison to her lithe sister, and with less bluster and fanfare, but just as much presence, as she opened her eyes first. Blinking their brown eyes at their overjoyed daddy, as Rick stood over the warmer, Isabelle and Zoey completely stole his heart. I watched on tiredly as his tears fell in flowing streams over his cheeks. Baptizing our miracle babies with the damp rush of an abundant outpouring of love. 

Not long after, as Rick and I laid in the hospital bed together, our baby girls in each of our arms, we could do nothing but silently marvel at what we had done together. How far we had come. Almost identical in looks, Zoey and Isabelle were quite honestly perfect. Full lips like mine. Large swaths of dark chestnut curls like their father. Wide chocolate eyes, and tawny, sepia toned skin, they made an almost exact pair of tiny angels. 

Present day…

Standing up straight from his lean, and walking towards me with that familiar bow legged stride of his, his dark slacks draping his long legs just right, Rick offers the plate piled high with food to me. "Are you hungry?"

Teeny, buttressed right up against Andre's chest in a tight ball, seemingly protecting him from the ugliness of the day, raises her head at the sound of Rick's voice and the sight of him coming closer. Mewling a few times as though answering his question, she doesn't fall back into her relaxed pose until Rick first gives her a few rubs behind the ears with the tips of his fingers after I accepted the plate from his hand.

Plucking a biscuit from the plate, piled high with food, before placing it on the night stand next to me, I answer around a mouthful of buttery bread and honey, "When am I not?"

"Point taken. But you need it to keep you strong for breast feeding. And other thangs." He flirtatiously raises his eyebrows, a suggestive glimmer in those sexy blue eyes.

"Rick, you're shameless. You came up here to bring me a plate to keep fattening me up, huh? Aren't I big enough? I still have baby weight to lose."

Frowning as though I have offended him, Rick tsks then shakes his head slowly back and forth. "Hey now, don't talk about my wife like that. She's a very sexy mama. I don't know if you knew this but she just had my babies a few months ago, and she looks amazing."

"Uh huh, I heard. You make it sound like I'm back to my old size, Rick. This body needs a lot of work still."

Even in the soft haze of the dimmed lighting in Andre's bedroom, I can follow Rick's eyes sweeping appreciatively over my frame. "You only think that because you can't see yourself how I see you, Michonne. You don't have to be a size 6 again. All I see is perfection either way, babe."

"Your heart eyes make you biased."

"I'm ok with that." He chuckles at his own admission, but the carefree lilt of his laugh softly peters out to a hushed sigh as his eyes dart away from mine and quickly down to my lap where Andre's head heavily lies. "Do you want me to sit with him so you can get some rest? Izzie will be up soon, and both of these girls are gonna want to eat by then." Rick asks, angling his body over mine to drop a kiss to the crown of my head first, and then to Isabel's. He rubs his warm hand down my back, and I can feel my tired muscles underneath the black silk of my dress relax at his touch. The motion of his large palm kneading away the tension in my back and shoulders, his thumb and index finger soothing away the knots, then gliding up to continue his ministrations on my neck, is comforting. And greatly needed today. I reach for his hand, and return some of the affection he's given to me, and bring it, palm up, to my lips.

Pulling his arm to gingerly lower his face down to me, I pucker my lips, seeking his kiss which he gives easily. A series of pecks shared between us, lessen some of the sting of the day. "No, I'll stay with him. I don't want him to wake up and I'm not here."

Nodding his head in agreement, his focus on mine, then back to our son, as he stirs slightly as his long body, clad in a pair of black slacks, and a black button up shirt, dominates the majority of his bed. Andre's long feet dangle in their loafers off the edge. Huffs of air carry deep, grumbled snores from his heavy slumber. A sleep so deep, his body so laden with burden, eerily still, that it betrays the fitful jerk of his eyelids, evidencing that he must be dreaming. I can only imagine what about. "Understood. Want me to try and lay her down in her crib?" he asks, jutting his chin towards our baby girl, curled into a little ball on my chest.

"She's gonna wake up too. Our parents have these babies so spoiled like you said, they think they are supposed to be held all the time. We have to put our foot down with them, Rick."

Cradling the back of Zoey's head to hold her closer, he lowers his eyes to her, and with that awed look of satisfaction in his eyes he always gets when looking at our girls, shakes his head. "I don't know, Michonne. I can't enforce a rule with the grands, that I can't keep for myself. I love holding them. Looking at them. They're too precious."

"True. Why do you think I have been sitting here holding Izzie all this time?" I smirk, shamefully admitting to my own weakness for our little angels.

"Yeah. Well, I'll get back downstairs then. Everyone is starting to leave, so I'll finish seeing them out. I don't think I should leave our parents unsupervised with Mike's family for much longer."

Sighing at the truth of his assessment, I don't even address that right now. I can't. The emotional toll of the day is weighing so heavy on me, tears threatening to cloud my vision again. I simply can't. I don't want to. Fighting back the urge to allow grief to take me under, instead I roll my head back on my neck a moment. Wresting back some control. Patting the portion of the bed on the other side of Andre that he's not covering, I offer my husband a welcoming smile. "No, Rick. Why don't you stay here for a little while with us? Take a moment for yourself. You've been doing so much more than you have to. Everyone else can make due."

"I'm just doing what needs to be done, sweetheart."

"No. It's more than that. This isn't something you need to do. None of it has been. Yet here you are, as you've been through this whole thing, doing it anyway. With no complaints. I'm so thankful for you."

"I'm the lucky one, Michonne. Never forget that."

"What did the therapist say, Rick? Our marriage and family is a gift to both of us. Not just to you, but to me also. Not a one sided exchange, we share in making this thing work, or not. And, whether you want to admit it or not, you've definitely been a gift through this. I don't think Andre and I could have made it without you. And Carl. And your parents, too. Thank you. I can't say it enough." And there it is. Oh god. That weak little break. The hitch of my voice as it grows soft and strained as I remember the peaks and valleys of this year. From the shooting, to the messy aftermath surrounding Rick's resignation. To the weekly counseling, an effort to set our marriage on a course for success. To the much awaited birth of our daughters. And now to this, saying goodbye to my ex.

Having taken the offered seat on the bed, Rick leans over and kisses the tears on my cheeks, then rubs the trail of them with his thumb. "You don't have to thank me, Michonne. I'm your husband, you're my wife. We're all family, and that's what family does, we support each other."

"I know, but how many husbands would be so helpful and understanding while their wife's ex-husband is dying? And during their wife's ex-husband's funeral, hosting his family at their house? It's a mouthful to even say it."

"I don't know about other husbands, but this one would. I would do anything for you, and Andre. You know that. Carl and my parents, too. Andre is his brother, you're his mother. And you know I suspect that my parents love you more than they love me anyway, so…" Rick laughs, gesturing his hand in a point towards the open door, and effectively lightening the mood a bit.

"They do not!" I wave away his claims, even as I know that his parents do seem to have taken to me as their daughter quite easily. Not only am I a regular invitee to his mother's bridge club, something Lori's mother, a member as well, was not too happy about, but when my father mentioned to Rick's that I'm a bit of a card shark, George offered me a seat at their high stakes poker game. I have to admit that my father in law must love me because I take his money every other week and instead of grumbling at the injustice of it all as my own father does, he seems quite proud that his daughter in law is, in his own words, 'a little ass kicker!'. George even demanded in that gruff but slick way of his, that if I'm coming to the poker game, 'no son of a bitch better be smoking their damned cigars at the table, because he doesn't want his grandbabies born with an arm coming out of their foreheads!'.

"Yes they do. What is it that you always say to me? I have receipts, Michonne. If we compare call histories and text messages, I think we would find that George and Amanda communicate with you much more than they do with me. I'm not mad, they can be your handful to deal with now." He shrugs, sucking playfully at his teeth the same way my mother does, showcasing just how much time he's been spending with my parents as well. And how much they are rubbing off on him.

"Maybe so, but what I think happened is that we just did a parent swap. Let's be real, you play golf with my parents all the time, and Arthur and Nia have never, ever invited me to play. Pregnant or not."

"That's because you complain about the heat. I don't complain, I just play."

"Well that's because you're weren't just sharing your body with two other people. It was too hot to lug all of that around on a golf course for hours, Rick. It's inhumane."

"Uh huh. Come here." I lay my head on his shoulder, and briefly close my eyes.

I don't know how long we remain like this. Rick with his head tilted back on the headboard as he quietly sleeps. Me with my head still on his shoulder, the girls laid across Rick's lap, and my chest, and Andre, still away in dreamland. We probably would have stayed this way even longer had another not decided it was time for them to join the sleepy party.

"Ma," Carl whispers, ducking his head through the open door. "Ma, Dre still sleep?"

"Hm?" Rick mumbles, his voice a rumbled rasp as he rolls his head forward and drowsily kisses behind my ear to rouse me.

"Oh, you're all up here sleep. How come no one told me we were taking a family nap?"

"Hey, sweetie, it wasn't planned. We wouldn't leave you out." Smiling at my son as he swipes his once again overly long locks from his face, the love I carry for this silly boy warms my heart.

On a pout Carl takes a tentative seat on the edge of the bed, gathering Teeny in his arms, and nods his head. "Uh huh. I was abandoned downstairs."

"Abandoned?" I ask, slightly perturbed that he would feel that way. That we may have inadvertently slighted him. When Lori unexpectedly decided to follow Shane in his exodus from King County, to move back to Alabama, taking their newborn daughter and leaving Carl behind with Rick, we were all surprised. All of us except for Carl, who in one of his characteristic moments of maturity commented as he and Andre moved all of his things into our house, that he told his mother this is where he wanted to be. Rick and I knew that he wanted to spend more time with us, that he had fostered a unique bond with Andre as his brother, and me as his "Ma", but we never expected him to make such a decision.

Perhaps we should have though. After Lori had Judith, she seemed different. More settled. Less agitated. More focused. But that focus wasn't on Carl, or even on Judith really. It was on Shane. While he was handling the fallout from the DOJ investigation into KC, and trying to figure out his own exit strategy, Lori had been thinking of how to ensure that she and Judith were a part of that plan. In the end, their interests found common ground somehow, coincidentally after Rick paid a last visit to Shane. Surprisingly, everyone was finally on the same page, and Shane and Lori were on their way to Birmingham. When I asked Rick about his role in all of this he would only respond that he just helped them both get what they really wanted all along, each other. But not Carl. They did not get my son, and I'm ecstatic that it was his choice. That he chose us to be his family now. It's petty I know. But I couldn't imagine my life now without my Thing 1 and Thing 2. Or as Rick affectionately calls them Salt n Pepper.

"Abandonded, Carl? Really?" Rolling his eyes and scoffing at Carl's dramatics, Rick twists his lips in disbelief before continuing. "Carl, when I came upstairs you were in the kitchen stuffing your face with your third plate of fried turkey, macaroni, and greens, and showing Nana how to play Candy Crush."

Sheepish, and turning red, Carl ducks his head as he snickers at being busted out by his dad. "Yeah, abandoned by my parents though. And I didn't fix those plates, Nana did. She said I'm too skinny."

"Right." Rick offers dryly, his head reclining back on to the headboard again as he shuffles a squirming Zoey, whose wide brown eyes study him, and soak in the familiarity of her father's face as her fingers tug at his lips.

Watching Rick playfully nibble on Zoey's chubby digits, I glance down at Izzie who seems to finally have roused from her own nap, and was quietly taking in the room, and sucking on her fist.

The room remains quiet for a bit, until Carl, head down as he calmly strokes Teeny's black fur, breaks the silence. "I do feel bad for Dre though. Losing his dad right before Christmas next month. It's not fair." His eyes briefly dance over to where Andre was still heavily ensconced in deep sleep, his legs now pulled up closer to his body in a fetal position.

"I know, sweetheart, life just isn't fair. But, his dad put up a long fight. I think he would have made it to Christmas if he could. We just have to help Andre through this difficult time now." I answer, recognizing the soft sadness in his empathetic blue eyes. I offer my son a smile of reassurance, hoping to ease some of his discomfort at the thought of his brother's loss. These two have grown so close, that even though they have their own rooms, they often spend the majority of their time together in the TV room. Laughing. Making fun of each other. Bonding. Sharing secrets. It warms my heart that just like Rick and I found each other, they found each other as well.

"I'm here for him, Ma. He's my brother. Just sucks. At least he still has you, right, Dad?"

"Absolutely." Rick agrees, popping kisses on Zoey's nose and making cooing sounds at her.

"Dre is sad though. Real sad." Carl laments, and places Teeny back in the crook of Andre's body, as if to offer her up as comfort for him.

Carl is right. As many bad memories and feelings that I harbor for Mike, I also know his passing is devastating for Andre. Mike put on a brave face until the very end though, probably hoping that it would soften the pain for Andre. Even when he weakly, tiredly, prepared to leave this plane of existence for the next, and said a heartfelt goodbye to his son, he seemed to always be thinking of how to make this easier for Andre.

This family is getting too used to the melancholy memories of goodbyes. With Mike's exit so fresh, and Lori's departure to Alabama, it has become a theme as of late. A sore spot even, bonding Carl and Andre even more under Rick's and my parentage as they both witnessed one of their parents depart. One as a matter of life's cycle, the other a matter of a fickle and restless heart, perhaps finally settling on who it was intended to be with all along.

Lost in thought I didn't realize it but we had all grown quiet and somber again, withdrawn into our own worlds while sharing the same space with each other. Only the tiny coos of babies, and the steady breathing of a slumbering Andre were heard. Then the tears began again. A plodding waltz of liquid anguish colored my cheeks, unbidden by me.

Without introduction or fanfare, Rick had eased himself and Zoey closer to Izzie and I, and was wiping my tears with his thumbs. I'm sure he was used to this by now, the emotional highs and lows of the last year offering him plenty of practice. Turning my head to acknowledge his efforts, I could only offer him a small twist of my lips, a smile unable to fully form.

"Hey, babe, Zo and I have an idea."

"You and Zo?"

"Well, it's more her idea than mine."

Chuckling at the absurdity of his claim, a full on grin threatens to drag me away from my melancholy. "Got it. What's the idea, Zo? Huh, sweet baby? You got an idea for your mama?"

"We never took a honeymoon. Right?"

"Well things were moving kind of fast. Too fast for a honeymoon maybe."

"You're right. They did. But they aren't now. We've moved into the new house, all of us here together. The girls made it here safely. How about we go now? All of us. The whole family for Christmas?"

"Rick?"

"We can still do a tree and gifts and what not for the holiday, just not here. I think we could all use a little getaway right now."

"Awe, Dad! That's a cool idea! Can we, Ma?" Carl's face brightens at the idea of escaping some of the grief of recent events.

I have to admit it's a good idea. We could all use a break. "Let me see what Izzie says. Iz, what do you think silly girl? Should the Grimes family run away for Christmas? You agree with your daddy and Zo?"

Zoey just continues to do what she often does, happily suckle on her fist, her studious face the picture of calm perfection.

As though he was actually waiting on his baby sister to answer and encourage me to say yes, Carl huffs and blurts out on his own, "She said yes!"

Rick and I laugh, feeling the tension begin to waft away in waves as we grin at each other, and in agreement we answer together. "Let's do it."