Becca continued to reflect on the words from the meadow. She met her Uncle, whom she remembered was celebrated when she was a child, and his mate. She was just as lovely as her father always described her. Mate must be their word for wife. There was too much information for her to process without sleep, but it also clarified things.
Her father. She got to say the things she prayed she got to say before he died. Her emotions were on a high, but this grounded her. She felt herself able to focus. She wasn't breaking down mentally as she was before. Her visit almost instilled a sense of renewed purpose.
Her hands nestled on her flat stomach. Mon Petite Amour. Her father called her baby girl his Petite Amour, her daughter. Her heart filled with so much excitement and love.……
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