Mrs. Poppins peered through the windows from inside her three-story home. To her surprise, a young girl of no more than ten years of age sat on a lawn chair. Her long, rich brown hair flung in her flushed, delicate face whenever she laughed. Mrs. Poppins wondered what in the world would appear to be that amusing, but suddenly, the child stopped giggling. Even from across the street, Mrs. Poppins understood the indescribable pain and terror in the child’s dark eyes, furrowing as if to prevent the tears from sliding down her cheeks. Immediately, the tender heart of Mrs. Poppins sought to end her suffering, which could only worsen in the unkempt foster agency’s care.
“There is only one solution to this dilemma,” Mrs. Poppins thought. She straightened her shoulders and marched confidently to her husband, who enjoyed his weekend with a glass of wine and an entire hour of American football. From only a single glance, Mr. Poppins knew for certain his wife was up to no good. He sighed internally and avoided her gaze with no such luck, for Mrs. Poppins planted herself right in between Mr. Poppins and his beloved football game like an ancient redwood giant. Her hands clasped on each side of her hips, and she waited stubbornly for his acknowledgment.
Finally, in a dreadful act of defeat, Mr. Poppins sighed deeply, “Sweetheart, I love you with all my heart, but you are acting more like a door than a window. There is no need to prevent my enjoyment of the sport. Tell me what is on your mind.”
Satisfied with the recognition, Mrs. Poppins stepped aside and sat next to her husband on the leather loveseat, but her determined eyes still bore into the side of his head when Mrs. Poppins said, “I believe it is time for us to have a child.”
Mr. Poppins sputtered and roared in a coughing frenzy, for he made the mistake of sipping his delightful red wine during his wife’s announcement. He peered into her face with disbelief, “You must be joking?”
“We have always wanted children. We shouldn't hold it off any longer,” she paused. “I already know the perfect little girl who needs us as much as we need her. She is truly beautiful, and she is already grown up. Of course, this demands a joint effort. I need your support.”
Mr. Poppins sank deeper in the love seat and remembered the doctor’s dreadful news. He had to hold his sobbing wife for hours. His chest still felt the heaviness of that day like a claustrophobic coal miner trapped in a cramped cave with no escape.
“I could never deny her of a chance to have a child,” Mr. Poppins thought. His eyes softened when he reflected on her fight against the threatening depression, thundering just beyond the thin veil of happiness. If his wife’s darling blue eyes would sparkle as brightly as they did in the past, then--Mr. Poppins decided--any other consequences would fall beneath his wife’s emotional health.
Mr. Poppins breathed in deeply and smiled softly.
“We are partners, Sweetheart. I am willing to do my part in raising a child.”
“Oh, I love you!” Mrs. Poppins cheered as she kissed his face. Her sincere smile reached her eyes, and her laughter filled the room like the warm and welcoming rays of sunshine to a coal miner, who had been digging for years under the cold, black earth. Despite this blissful reaction, Mr. Poppins held his breath: the child was not theirs yet.
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