Once he was free of the bunker, Branch ran blindly through the grass a short distance, his face still contorted as if in deep pain. How did she find out? he wondered, dropping to his knees in front of a cluster of tiny white flowers. He had had every intention of explaining his absence to Poppy upon his return, but had secretly hoped she'd be distracted enough not to ask until then. Now, it seemed, she already knew. He'd expected some hurt feelings, but not a full-on verbal assault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, cupping a hand gently around the white flowers. "You deserved better than this…better than me..."

"Branch?"

His ears pricked up at the sound of the gentle voice speaking his name. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed the rustling sounds growing ever closer behind him. Sensing no threat, he turned to face the large creature. "Bridget? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was gonna come and surprise Poppy with a visit, because I knew she had a lot going on this week," Bridget replied, "but no one in the village has seen her for a whole day. Smidge told me she might be with you..."

Branch shook his head. "She's down there," he sighed, gesturing toward the bunker hatch. "I'm sure she'll come out eventually, but you might want to make sure I'm not around when she does. She's on the warpath..."

"What happened?" Bridget lowered her hand to the ground, inviting Branch to sit in it. He hesitated only a moment before accepting her offer, allowing her to gently pick him up. He was still wary around the Bergens out of habit, but he knew he could trust Bridget. With another heavy sigh, he reached into his hair and pulled out something small and wooden.

Bridget squinted carefully, trying to identify the tiny object. "That's pretty," she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings any further. "Is it something you made?"

He nodded, turning the item over gently in his hands as if it were his greatest treasure. "It's a rattle," he said softly. "I wasn't as skilled when I made this as I am now…frankly, I'm surprised it's held together this long…"

"A rattle? You mean like for a baby?" Bridget tilted her head. "You and Poppy?"

Branch shook his head. "This was years ago…Poppy was still a teenager. I'm not sure if you're aware, Bridget, but I'm about four years older than her. And being grey didn't stop me from feeling certain urges, if you know what I mean..."

"Oh." Bridget nodded, suddenly getting the picture. "So you were gonna have a baby with another Troll? Are they still in the village?"

"The mother is," Branch said flatly. "It's not like we were trying to make it happen…it just sort of did. She was decent enough to keep our fling low-key, so the rest of the village wouldn't hound us with questions."

"And the baby?"

Branch didn't respond. He just looked up at the sky, then down at the wooden toy in his hand. "They would have been five this year," he finally managed to say, with a slight crack in his voice. "We never even knew if it was going to be a boy or a girl...they didn't make it far enough before…before…"

Seeing Branch about to break down was too much for Bridget. Losing his grandmother must have been painful enough, but his unborn child? Her eyes brimming with tears, she hugged the Troll close to her chest. "Branch, I'm so sorry!" she sobbed, nuzzling her cheek against him and barely turning her head in time to avoid splashing a huge teardrop on his head. "Have you told Poppy?"

"I was about to," he replied, his voice still trembling. "I heard there was a grove of cherry trees on the other side of the forest, and decided to go and look for a piece of wood to make a new rattle. I even brought back a few extra so I could make some for the children in the village. Celia does something similar, weaving blankets for the new Trollings. You'd never guess she'd lost her own…she can party just as hard as any other Troll, but she and I always make a point to meet here on the anniversary of the loss, so we can pay our respects."

The sound of the bunker hatch opening caused the two friends to turn their heads. There, with both hands clasped gently over her heart, stood Poppy, her eyes shining with tears. Her heart ached for Branch, and for dear Celia – the blanket lady, whom she had actually helped on numerous occasions to deliver those very same blankets! She had never known the reason behind it – Celia herself had only mentioned that every Trolling was special, and the blankets were her gift to them.

Bridget lowered her hand again, letting Branch run to Poppy. She held her arms open wide, and he fell into them, his chest heaving as he finally released the tears, wails and sobs he'd been holding in all this time, the rattle still held tightly in his hand. They cried together for a good long while, Poppy running her fingers soothingly through Branch's hair, while he buried his face in her shoulder, grateful for the solace it provided. Bridget, who still had tears running down her cheeks, rose from her spot and tiptoed back to the village. She would meet up with Poppy later, but for now, these two needed their space.

Branch raised his head at last, searching his mate's eyes desperately for forgiveness. "Poppy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going…I really should have. And I'm sorry you've had such a rough week. You work so hard to provide for our people, and you deserve nothing less than the best."

"No, Branch," replied Poppy, "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I understand why you kept this to yourself. Even after all you've lost, you still find ways to give. Your grandma would be proud." She lifted his hand, rubbing it gently to encourage him to loosen his grip on the rattle. "You're an amazing father," she whispered, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Did I hear you say you brought home extra wood?"

He nodded slowly, arching an eyebrow.

"Well…" she smiled gently at him, "after you've finished your memorial piece, do you think you could make one for their brother or sister?"

It took a few moments for her words to sink in, but when they did, Branch's eyes grew wide as saucers. Poppy's smile grew, taking his free hand and placing it on her belly. His eyes immediately misted over again, almost as if he were afraid of the touch, marveling at the miracle of the second chance he'd been blessed with. He would always love and remember his first, and Poppy's unconditional acceptance of them warmed his heart.

Only one question now lingered in the back of his mind. How would Celia react to the news?

Well, I wasn't planning on making this a three-chapter story, but you'll get to meet Celia in the third (and most likely final) installment. This is a subject that means a lot to me, as I have several angel moms near and dear to my heart. I hope I'm doing right by them.