Hushed Willows sugar magnolia

He would perhaps never truly know the depth at which his children had come to understand things. There were far too many things he wished he could have shown them that were good about the world. But it was a difficult thing even now to conjure up from the ashes of what they had. Even to him, the world as of late may as well have been cast in shades of gloom, for even when they dared to look up it was only to see that hopeful light grow further and further away. And he had tried to be humble about it, always siding his thoughts with the notion that it could have been worse.

Even now, when he felt much lower than he had in weeks, he reminded himself that it could have always been worse. Perhaps that was why he found himself as some central bastion of positive reinforcement, that it would all come to pass and be over before they knew it. How soon that would be, however, Mordecai could not determine, nor had he the energy to ponder such.

"Just being there helps," he answered. "You and your sister help more than you realize." Or so he wanted to believe. There were times when their pained gazes betrayed whatever other emotion rose to the front, and there were times when he felt guilt for undetermined reasons. He kept that tucked away where he hoped they would never stumble onto it, and suspected Harlyn did the same.

"Perhaps we should bring her some flowers," he went on to suggest.