NOVEMBER 2032

Rumple woke up with a start, his pajama top drenched in sweat, although winter had already blanketed Augusta in a thin coat of snow. His abrupt movements woke Belle, who grumbled, until she heard his panting, then she sat up and stroked his back. "Honey? Are you ill?"

"No, just—bad dream." He slid out of bed and into his slippers. After a shower he thumped into the kitchen, where Belle had coffee and oatmeal waiting.

"Do you feel like going to work today?" She asked soothingly.

"I'm fine. Besides, I've got a big day today. Driving down to Lewiston for the ribbon cutting." He grinned around his coffee. "Gotta be there to support my trainees." He'd taught his methods to the cooks at the new Phoenix House.

"I'm proud of you, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about your dream?"

"It wasn't really a dream," he explained. "I don't know what to call it. More like the vision fragments I used to get, when I had the Sight. I saw a battle between sorcerers, dozens of them on an open field, and I saw Merlin there. But as hard as I searched, I couldn't find Trajan." He shrugged. "It can't be a vision, so—guess it's just my subconscious telling me it's time to check in with Trajan."

"I'm sure he's fine. I spoke to Emma last week and she said she'd seen him in the candy shop. He was buying Snow White Fudge."

"I'm sure he's fine too." Rumple spooned up his oatmeal. "Regina would let us know if there was a problem. Still, I'll send him an email. Maybe today will be the day he answers me."

"It's interesting you happened to call," Regina said. She brushed a stray strand of gray from her cheek. He admired her for that: she could have used magic, either her own or Clairol's, to return her hair to its youthful color, but she hadn't. She seemed to enjoy the status that came with age in Storybrooke.

Not that Rumple would have criticized her if she had dyed her hair. His own had gone full gun-barrel gray years ago.

"There was something upsetting that happened today," she continued. "Merlin received word from Misthaven that the Dark Vault has been opened. The body of a farmer was found nearby, the hand burned."

"The Dark One's been released," Rumple surmised. "Has it been seen anywhere?"

"Not yet, but the Duke of Shapleigh has vanished. The duchess reports that he and his squire went out hunting two days ago. The duke's horse returned to the stables yesterday, riderless. The squire is missing as well."

"Could be a coincidence, but it needs checking out. Where's Merlin now?"

"He's rounding up his 'white army' and preparing to take them to Misthaven to investigate."

Rumple swallowed hard. "Trajan."

Regina shook her head. "He's not going. Merlin said that only the pure-hearted could win this fight. Anyone else would be vulnerable to the Darkness."

"That's so, but—Trajan—" Rumple sputtered.

"Merlin ordered him to stay behind. He's shattered, of course, but what else can he do? He's going to guard the portal here, just in case Merlin's army fails."

"They won't."

Regina sighed. "Rumple, Emma and I are going with Merlin."

"Oh."

"He asked us. He said he needs all the help he can get."

"Work as a team and you'll kick Dark ass."

She chuckled. "Thanks for that vote of confidence. As you can imagine, Trajan is bitter and a bit embarrassed. Would you talk to him? Try to help him cheer up?"

"If he'll take my call. I'll try tomorrow night. Good luck, Regina. Keep your head and you'll do fine."

"Thanks, Rumple."

"One more piece of advice: find the duke and you'll find the Dark One."

A scowling face swam into view. At least Trajan was answering his call; that had to be a good sign—unless Trajan thought Rumple might have some news from the Dark side. "Yeah?" But the young man didn't sound angry, just anxious.

"Hello, Trajan. Will you talk to me?"

"What for? Are you calling to rub it in?" His defensiveness reminded Rumple of the hurt little boy who'd once confronted him with "What do you know? Who the hell are you?"

"You may wish the world to see you as a hard case, but Master Trajan, I know what's underneath, because I have put up that same front," Rumple said.

Trajan's face softened as he remembered the first time his mentor had made that same statement. He glanced away, rubbing his eyes, then glanced back again. "Do you know the history of the name 'Trajan'?"

"No."

"It was the name of a great Roman emperor, considered one of the greatest military leaders in history." Trajan snorted. "Some namesake I am. Merlin threw me out."

"That's not what I heard. He left you behind to guard Storybrooke."

"That's not what it was," Trajan denied. "He left me behind because I wasn't 'pure' enough. Because my mother was—who she was."

"Is that what Merlin said?" When the young man didn't answer, Rumple pressed, "Is that what Merlin said? Because I doubt it. He knew when he started training you who your mother was, and yet he prepared you for his army, made you his apprentice."

"What else could it mean?" the boy spat. "'Pure-hearted'—he said all his soldiers need to be 'pure-hearted' so the darkness couldn't consume them. He's taking my mother and Emma Swan! Mom's almost fifty!"

"There's no degradation of power in older sorcerers. If there were, Merlin would've retired long ago. Regina and Emma will be fine." Rumple shook his head in thought. "The combination of their powers blended together—I doubt if even Merlin could beat it. But as for Merlin's remark. Did he explain what he meant by 'pure-hearted'?"

"No. He never explains. He just expects us to figure out his riddles."

"Long ago, Trajan, I promised to always tell you the truth, and you promised me the same. Do you remember?"

"Yeah. Life was simpler then."

"Tell me the truth now, and I promise I'll be equally honest. In what way are you not 'pure-hearted'? Have you dabbled in Dark magic?"

"No!" Trajan slapped his hand against his keyboard, causing his image in Rumple's monitor to shake. "Never! After all I learned about Mom and Zelena and you, I wasn't about to mess with Dark magic. It never was worth the price for any of you. I guess you know I did a lot of traveling, after I graduated high school, and I studied different forms of magic in different realms, but Dark magic never tempted me."

"Good." Rumple leaned back in his seat with a relieved sigh. "Very good. If there was only one thing I taught you that you retained, I'd hoped it would be that."

"Oh, I remember everything you taught me," Trajan said bitterly. "From the value of birdhouses to the uselessness of revenge. But that doesn't mean I'm not still angry as hell for what you took from me."

"I understand. I won't ask for your forgiveness; I understand you can't give it. All I can do is say I'm sorry, and I've spent every day of my life since then wishing I hadn't walked into that jail. My best hope is that you never, ever have to experience the shame and regret that comes from acting out in rage."

"Well, looks like I'll never get that chance, huh?" Trajan threw up his hands, which glowed faintly with unspent power. "Since all I'm good for is babysitting portals!"

"That's not true. I've seen film from some of your training sessions. You have a wide range of skills, wider than Regina's, and as much raw power as Zelena had. Ability is not the issue, is it? Be honest with me, Trajan."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

"Then what do you think Merlin meant?"

The young man ran his hands through his short-cropped hair. He wore a beard now, longer than his father's, as long as Balthazar's; Regina had mentioned he'd started growing it when he'd accepted the position as Apprentice, as a tribute to his predecessor. Trajan's beard was tinged with red, a mark of his lineage. "He meant I'm still mad as hell!"

Rumple nodded. "As you know from Regina, anger leaves a path for Darkness to follow. That's why Merlin thought you would be vulnerable. It's me, isn't it? Your anger is against me."

Trajan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He lived alone—had moved out right after graduation, refusing any financial aid from his folks. He rented a one-bedroom duplex a couple of blocks from Marine Garage, where he earned his keep installing batteries and doing tune-ups. What he'd never found out, in all those years, was that when he'd moved in, Mr. Dove made an adjustment to the rent on that duplex. In return for their silence, the couple in other side of the duplex had enjoyed a fifty percent reduction in rent. Dove had made the adjustment without consulting Mr. O'Neal; after all those years in service, Dove just knew it was something Mr. O'Neal would want done.

"After my sixteenth birthday," Trajan reflected, "Archie had me write two memory journals. You know what those are? I guess they're a favorite therapy of his." At Rumple's nod, he continued, "One of them was for everything I could remember about Zelena. I worked on that damn thing for two weeks. Spent most of the time just staring at a blank page. I ended up with a page and a half. Made me realize that just because she gave birth to me didn't make her my mother. The other journal I got done in three days. It was thirty-three pages long, and it was about you."

"I mattered to you."

"Yeah. That didn't make me stop hating you." Trajan thought for a bit. "It wasn't because you killed Zelena that I hate you. It was because of what you did to me."

"What did I do?"

"You came into my life when I was needy and vulnerable. First you acted like a teacher, but then, more like an uncle. . . or a father. I had fantasies for a while that you'd adopt me, you and Belle, and make it real. You gave me hope, and you did that all the while knowing who I was and what you'd tell me someday. Zelena was dead, but you got one more act of revenge in, didn't you? A son for a son, me for Baelfire."

Rumple blanched. "Is that what you think? That I was using you to get back at her?"

"What else?" Trajan shouted. "You knew who I was, even before you met me!"

"You're dead wrong! I refused—when Archie asked me to teach you, I refused, because I knew who you were. He was asking me to help the child of the woman who tried to kill my son, the woman who kept me locked in a dog cage!"

"I know; I saw it," Trajan reminded him.

"I refused, but Archie told me how you were being bullied, how the Martels thought you were delusional because you remembered Oz, and I was the only one on this side of the barrier who could tell you the truth. And still I refused, because how could I help her, after all she'd done to me? But I. . . I was like you; the only person in this world who knew the truth about magic. And I knew what it was to be bullied, and what you would grow up to be, if someone didn't help you. Me. You'd grow up to be me. So I—gave in. I thought I owed it to Bae. I never intended to use you or betray you. I just wanted to make sure there would be one less bully in the world."

"Fine story," Trajan snapped. "Now that I've had my bedtime story, Uncle Rum, I'm going to bed."

The connection terminated, Rumple stared into a blank screen.

NOVEMBER 2032

"Is there anything you can do, Rumple?" Robin's voice was shaking.

"I'm afraid not. This is a magic fight, and I have nothing to bring. Nor do you and David and Bae. You have to remember that; all your arrows and swords are nothing more than mosquitoes to the Dark One. The people with the best chance of winning that war are already in Misthaven. The rest of us would only endanger them, because believe me, the Dark One will come after their loved ones just to throw Emma and Regina off-balance." Rumple was almost as anxious as his caller was, but he had to be realistic.

"There must be something in your shop, in your books—"

Rumple shook his head. "This is a fight between good and evil, simply that. Merlin will win. We must be patient and hopeful."

"Never thought I'd say this, but I wish to hell you were the Dark One still."

DECEMBER 2032

"Papa! We've had a message from Merlin," Neal had phoned when Rumple was taking too long to answer his Skype call.

"Sorry, Neal, it's me," Belle said into the phone. "Rumple's in the shower. Here, I'm going into the bathroom. . . ." Neal could hear a door squeak, then water running, then a curtain rattling and the water cutting off. In another moment, Rumple was barking into the phone, "What's the message, Bae?"

Neal ignored his father's slip of the tongue; years ago, he'd accepted that to one person in the world, he would always be Baelfire. "Merlin sent word to Balthazar through the crimson crown. Emma's okay but three of Merlin's army are dead and Regina's been wounded. They need help. It's bad, Papa."

"What can I do? Without magic, I'm useless to them." And yet, as Rumple exchanged a worried glance with Belle, they both knew that they would be driving to Storybrooke tonight. She handed Rumple a towel and ran into the bedroom to dig into his dresser for some warm clothes.

"Not you; it's Trajan they want. You have to help him once more, Papa."

"But he's vulnerable—"

"Not if you can drive the anger from his heart. That's what Merlin said." Neal licked his lips nervously. "Please, Papa. For Emma."

An annoyed voice shouted through the door, "If you got car trouble, leave the keys on the counter at the garage. I'll get to it in the morning." But Rumple kept pounding, and at last the door jerked open and a barefooted, bare-chested young man filled the doorway. "Leroy, if that's you begging to borrow money again, I swear—" The porch light flickered on and Trajan gaped at his visitors. "What the f—what are you doing here?" He looked around at the empty street, then tossed his head toward the apartment. "Come in."

His place was a mess, strewn with dirty dishes, half-filled coffee cups, piles of clothes on the couch and the kitchen table. Regina would have raised holy hell—probably had, before she went off to war. Rumple wondered if this was Trajan's acting out his anger at being left behind or if it was a simple act of new-adult rebellion. Trajan didn't bother to clear away sitting space; clearly, he didn't expect them to stay long. He flipped on the kitchen light and stood with folded arms. "Well?"

"They need you. In Misthaven. They need you," Belle said.

He snorted. "Yeah. David and Neal were here tonight. Before them, Dad. So you drove all this way to tell me what I already know? Thought you two were supposed to be the smart ones."

"Don't be rude to my wife, Master Trajan." Rumple went toe-to-toe with the kid and folded his arms too. "I thought I taught you better; I know Regina and Robin did."

Trajan blinked. "So what'd you come for?"

"To ask the impossible of you." Rumple lowered his arms. "I'm asking you to forgive me."

"What?" Trajan blinked again, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"I won't argue whether I'm guilty of using you, as you think I am. I came to realize it doesn't matter what I intended when I became your mentor; what matters is how you feel. I'm asking you to put those feelings to the side for a moment and try to remember how you felt then, that first session we had together. Can you remember?"

His mouth twitched as if a smile might form. "I was a little snot and you gave me what-for."

"Yes, I said I wouldn't tolerate rudeness and I walked away. But I also said that if you listened to what I had to say, you'd learn a great deal about yourself. Please, listen now. A lot of people are depending upon this."

Trajan's arms dropped to his side. "Are you. . . going to guarantee me answers?"

"Not this time." Rumple turned and cleared off space on the couch, then helped Belle out of her coat and urged her to be seated.

Duly embarrassed, Trajan tossed away a stack of Sports Illustrateds to free up the rest of the couch. "Please, have a seat. You want some coffee?"

Rumple slipped off his coat and Trajan hung the two coats up on a coatrack behind the front door. "No, but thank you for offering," Belle said.

"None for me either, thanks," Rumple said.

Trajan sat down in his Laz-y Boy. His knees on his elbows, he invited, "I apologize for my earlier rudeness, Belle."

Belle smiled. "I accept your apology, Trajan, and I'm sorry we woke you. This is a rather urgent matter."

Trajan motioned to Rumple. "You were saying?"

Rumple relaxed against the sagging couch. "I'm asking you to remember our first project."

"Sure." Trajan shrugged. "A birdhouse for chickadees."

"It took us weeks to build. During that time, I came to care about you, and as a result, I agonized over what to tell you about your past, and how, and when. I knew the time would come that I would have to tell you I killed Zelena; I feared that the longer I waited, the harder it would be for you to forgive me. But I also knew you needed me, at least until it was possible for Regina to come into your life. And by that time—by the time I could've let you go, I couldn't. I needed you too. I waited to tell you until I thought you were old enough to understand the whole story. Maybe I shouldn't have waited, or maybe I shouldn't have told you at all, but I'd promised you, in the beginning, I would be honest with you, though there would answers I couldn't give you at the moment you asked for them because I thought you weren't ready yet." He drew in a deep breath and released it. "You have a right to your feelings, but to hang onto anger, especially when there's nothing I can do to repair the damage I've done, it will accomplish nothing. So I'm asking you to let go of your anger and forgive me."

Trajan stared at him in pain. "I don't know how."

Rumple dug into his jeans pocket. "I think I can help. Give me your hand."

Perplexed, Trajan frowned but did as bade; Rumple pressed his own hand against the young man's, and when he moved his hand away, five shiny pennies remained in Trajan's open palm.

The boy's mouth fell open as he poked at the pennies and remembered. "The weight of a chickadee."

Rumple smiled. "The weight of a chickadee. That's what your anger is worth. No more." He pushed Trajan's palm closed, then pulled it open again and the pennies were gone. "Let it go with the pennies."

"I can't—"

"You can, if you'll remember."

At a nod from Rumple, Belle reached into the tote bag at her feet and drew out a manila envelope. "Make a lap, Trajan," she urged. When he pushed his knees together, she dumped the envelope's contents into his lap. "I took these from the walls of our house. Every room of our house." He could believe it: the pile kept growing as she shook the envelope. "Years of memories. They're on loan to you for as long as you need them, but we would like them back eventually. They're important to us."

Falling out randomly, the flimsy sheets bore no order as he sifted through them, identifying them: "My graduation picture. My grades from third grade. My diagram of the birdhouse. Ticket stub from an amusement park you took me to. Essay you made me write about the importance of birds. Ticket from the car show." He looked from Belle to Rumple. "You kept all this?"

"Because it was important to us," Belle said.

"Because we love you," Rumple finished. "Go through these mementoes, Trajan, and remember how it was between us, and if you hold onto the memories, you can let go of the anger."

Belle stood and held out her hand to her husband. "We should go now, give him time to think."

Rumple accepted her hand. "We're staying at the inn for the next couple of days." He retrieved their coats and helped Belle into hers. "When you're ready to talk, I'll be waiting."

"I couldn't pry him out of his chair," Belle sighed in answer to Neal's unspoken query. Belle and Rumple had been invited to dinner at Dave's Fish and Chips, but only Belle had slid into the booth across from her stepson. "He just sits by the window overlooking town square, pretending to read, but he's actually watching the street."

"For Trajan," Neal surmised.

"Yeah." Belle tried to smile as the waitress brought over menus and took drink orders, but as soon as the waitress moved away, so did the smile. "We'll leave tomorrow. It'll do him some good to get back to work."

"What a waste," Bae growled, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. "What a frigging waste. That's something I had to learn the hard way. You can go through life blaming your family for how screwed up you are, or you can get on with living. Learn to see them for what they are: good people who sometimes make mistakes, sometimes terrible ones. Forgive them and accept the love they want to give you, which is, by the way, pretty damn good."

Bae seemed to suddenly make a decision, for he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "When she comes back," he urged, meaning the waitress, "order me the First Mates Platter. I've got an errand to run. I'll be back as quick as I can."

"Where?" Belle wondered.

He smiled that lopsided grin of his. "Got to have a chat with a boy about grudges and wasted time. Which I know a bit about. Two hundred years of wasted time." He bolted out the door.

On their third day, Rumple sat at the window looking out over the town square and refused Belle's suggestion that he join her at the diner for breakfast. He held a translation of the Guru Granth Sahib in his lap, but he wasn't reading. She closed the door to their rented room behind her and started down the stairs.

A moment later, she was galloping back up, doing her best to keep up with the long-legged man carrying the manila envelope. "No, you're not interrupting. He's just admiring the view," was all she said, but she grinned from ear to ear. "Come on in." She swung the door open. "Rumple, we have a guest."

Book in hand, Rumple stood. Before he could collect his thoughts and welcome the guest, the envelope was being presented to him. "I thought I'd keep your mementos a little longer, mail 'em back to you, if that's okay. But as a sort of collateral, here are mine."

Rumple spread them out on the bed. "A note I wrote you, congratulating you on your grades. Photo of the three of us at the car show. Birthday cards. Christmas cards." He puzzled over a mustard-stained wrapper until Trajan explained, "From the hot dog you bought me at the Moose versus Seawolves game."

"You're forgiving me?"

Trajan nodded. "Neal came by the garage yesterday; he kinda grabbed me by the shirt and shook me, metaphorically. He said I can keep on smoldering from the inside, making myself miserable, blowing up at the world, or I could man up. And he showed me pictures of Emma and Henry and the Charmings and you and Belle, and he said that if he hadn't decided to man up, he wouldn't have all these people in his life now. And he reminded me that when you started mentoring me, you knew who I was, but you didn't let that stop you from loving me. So I got to thinking about—well, this." He indicated the envelope. "All the stuff you did for me, even though I was Zelena's kid, and I figured if you could do that, then I could change too. So, yeah, I'm forgiving you."

Rumple didn't wait for an invitation: he hugged his mentee.

"VICTORY! THEIR COMING HOME!"

Granny set the morning's issue of the Mirror down, along with two cups of tea, on the table. "Newspaper's on the house. Your pancakes will be up in a few. Them I'm still charging for." The O'Neals could barely hear her over the chatter in the over-crowded diner. "Got to make a living." She winked at Belle before she moved on to the next table.

"Hmph," Rumple opened the newspaper. "Glass should get Henry back here. The quality of proofreading at the Mirror's really gone downhill." He turned the newspaper around so Belle could see the headline.

"Still, nice photo of Merlin's army. Trajan looks nice in the uniform," Belle pointed out. "The article says they're expected back tomorrow, after Queen Iona knights them. Think we can stay in town one more day?"

"Don't you have a budget meeting tomorrow?"

"Yes, but Sarah can fill in for me. She owes me a favor. Don't you have a new trainee you're starting tomorrow?" Belle had recently been promoted to Assistant Director of the Augusta Library.

"Yes, but Martin can give him the orientation. I think I can squeeze one more day of leave out of Ms. Hotchkiss."

"Then we can stay. Be there with the rest of town when the heroes return." Belle skimmed over the article as Rumple sipped his tea and drummed his fingers, eagerly awaiting the pancakes. "Hey, just wondering something: did you ever meet the Duke of Shapleigh?"

"Nope."

"How'd you know, then? You told Regina, 'Find the Duke and you'll find the Dark One.'"

Rumple shrugged. "It usually goes that way. Ten of the last seventeen Dark Ones were noblemen before they got hold of the dagger. Then they find that controlling the Dark One isn't as easy as it seems, and they panic and take the power for themselves. The Dark One encourages that terror; possessing a nobleman is more fun than inhabiting a peasant."

"You were one of the seven non-noblemen."

"Yeah, just a working-class slob." He picked up Belle's hand and kissed her palm. "But I'm a king now."

An impromptu parade featuring the high school band, a fleet of Model T's from the Klassic Kar Kollectors Klub, and a three-man clown car from the brand-new Storybrooke Clown College celebrated the return of Merlin's warriors. The great sorcerer himself vanished as soon as Mayor Mills-Locksley's welcome home speech and the ensuing photo op had concluded, but the rest of the town, along with two out-of-towners, stuck around for the traditional lasagne party at Granny's. "You done good raisin' him," Leroy congratulated Robin; the former bandit raised a mug in Rumple and Belle's direction. "We didn't do it alone."

Trajan himself, after receiving all the hugs, kisses and back-slaps due him, kissed his mom and bear-hugged his dad, but then strolled over to Rumple. "Buy you a beer, Rum?"

"Sure." The two men perched on stools and rested elbows on the counter as they waited for Ashley to pour the ale. Belle, with a pat to Trajan's back, wandered away to give them a modicum of privacy; they had something they needed to say to each other, she understood, even if most of what they said was unspoken.

"So, I guess it went well," Rumple started.

"Yeah. Touch and go at first, but we turned it round." And Trajan went on to describe the battles between the Duke's forces and Merlin's. After they'd fallen silent and sat quaffing their beers and munching peanuts, Trajan got to the point. "Rum, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry I was such a jerk. You know?"

"I know." Rumple grinned wryly. "I know all about being a jerk. Believe me."

"So. . . Guess I missed a few soccer matches while I was gone. How's the Revolution doing?"

When Belle checked in on them an hour later, they were arguing. At first she was alarmed, until she heard her husband declare, "Nah, Perez is all flash and no substance. Now Santiago, there's a footie player." She chuckled then.

"How they gettin' along?" Robin whispered to her.

"The tide's turned," she replied. "Rumple's more at ease than he's been in ages."

"So is Trey." Suddenly the two soccer fans got up, guzzled the last of their beers, pulled on their coats and headed for the exit. Belle and Robin exchanged a puzzled look until Trajan called across the diner, "Hey, Dad, I'm going to show Rum the ultralight I'm building. See ya later, okay?"

"Yeah," Belle mused. "The tide's turned."

MAY 2036

Humming along to the Beatles track he had playing on their stereo, Belle leaned over her husband's shoulder to squint at the dark photo on his computer screen. "What is that?"

Rumple grinned. "A photo from Trey and Jennifer."

"It's, ah, awfully hazy. . ." She twisted her head to the side to examine it.

"That's because it's a sonogram."

"A sono-?! They're pregnant?" Belle whooped.

"My darling, you're looking at the very first photograph of Robert Robin Mills-Locksley." Rumple's smug grin softened as, in the background, Paul McCartney looked into the future and sang what he saw: "There will be an answer/Let it be."

Belle reached over his shoulder to clasp his hand, and as she did, her attention fell upon the ever-present stack of books he kept on his desk. She recognized the volume lying open on top; she knew how it had come into his possession, and why, and who had given it, and she had reason every day to thank the giver, as well as the many others who'd given Rumple a home when he needed one. A yellow sticky note marked a verse, and as she read it, in her imagination-memory she could see Daniel at his kitchen table, plastering that Post-It to the page and smiling, well pleased because the verse said exactly what Rumple needed to hear. As much as she missed Daniel, she realized Rumple must miss him so much more, but every now and then, the priest would pop up in messages like this one: "Until seventy times seven."

"Forgiveness," she said aloud, touching the Post-It. "The true power."

A/N. Thank you for reading this story.