She could hear the large raindrops that were plummeting on the roof of the low-income apartment she had stayed in for five years now, and it set the mood. Her husband of twelve years had just passed away yesterday, and she had just got the phone call saying that the funeral was set for tomorrow. How many times could her heart be broken? The lightly-dimmed room set no light for her to see the pictures in the scrapbook, and she almost broke into tears. What was she doing wrong?

"Mom, don't cry," she heard a silent whisper say from the doorway. It was her sixteen year old daughter, Jacquelyn. There had been quite some surprise after she reached America when she found out she was pregnant. Jacquelyn gave her mother chills whenever she saw her. She had sparkling blue eyes, and flowing blonde hair that barely carried some red in the summer. She looked just like her Father had.

"Mommy's okay, darling," she said comforting her daughter. "I'm just looking at some pictures. Want to see?" Jacquelyn nodded from across the room, and sat down with her mother in the bed. Rose had never shown her children pictures from the post-depression stage. Right as she was getting ready to begin to show Jacquelyn the pictures in the album, her other children Sophie and Isaac came into the room. Sophie had just turned eleven a couple of days ago, and Isaac was just eight.

As far as Sophie and Isaac knew, Jacquelyn was just their sister and that was all they could know. Jacquelyn on the other hand had been told that her father died before she was born, but Rose had never went into detail. "Mother, we're afraid of the storm," chattered Sophie. Rose held out her arms, and smiled. "C'mon then, get on the bed. Your sister and I were just looking at pictures."

Sophie had light, delicate red hair after her mother, and Isaac had the brown hair that was from his father, Joseph Calvert. Rose pointed at the picture of her working as an actress back in Manhattan, and laughed. "I was only eighteen when I took this picture. I was quite a showgirl back in those days." Jacquelyn and Sophie both laughed together staring deep into the picture. "Mommy, you looked rather silly," murmured Isaac. Rose laughed at his comment. He loved to act like he knew it all.

Jacquelyn then flipped the page for her mother, and saw the picture that Rose intended for them to see. It was a picture from a newspaper article on April 19th 1912, the day after the Carpathia docked in New York, and she had been in the background. She remembered the, what seemed like the 30,000 people that lined the dock and filled the surrounding streets. She remembered the magnesium flashes of the photographers going off like small bombs, lighting an amazing tableau. She remembered the several hundred police keeping the mob back. The dock was packed with friends and relatives, officials, ambulances, and the press—but no Jack.

Reporters and photographers had swarmed everywhere and had lined up at the foot of gangways, lining the tops of cars and trucks and it was the 1912 equivalent ff a media circus. They had jostled to get close to the survivors, tugging on them as they pass and shouting over each other to ask them questions. Rose remembered that she had quietly used the shouting crowd to her advantage to run, to run faster than she had ever run. Regardless, her broken face had appeared in the press.

"Mother, what were you doing in that one?" asked Sophie curiously. Before the tears could slip from Rose's eyes, she closed the scrap book and put her hand on Sophie's shoulders. "Alright, that's enough pictures for tonight," she smiled and kissed her children's foreheads. Regardless of picture time being over with, the children stayed with Rose in her bed, and she felt comfort in her hopelessness. She didn't think after this that she could love again. She had promised Jack she would survive, love, have children, and she had done it all. Against all odds, she did fall back in love. Could that be done twice though? She wished she could start her whole life over.

Oh, how she wished. She could go back in time, and fix all the choices she made on that ship. And she could've also maybe warned the crew that a large iceberg were ahead that would sink the whole ship from the bottom up. That would never come true for her though. No matter how sad she would be from her husband's death, she would always be Rose Dawson Calvert, happy to have her children to comfort her, but someone holding tears behind their eyes.

And then before she knew it she was fast asleep, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she could see the fierce lightning, lighting up the sky with intense streaks. She then heard the radio turn on from the kitchen inside the apartment. The radio was the only entertainment object Rose and Joseph had saved enough money to buy, and the children enjoyed its company very much, especially Jacquelyn.

"Jacquelyn, turn the radio off, it's time to sleep. You may listen to it in the morning, dear," she moaned drowsily, but was drowned out by the sound. It was then that she heard a familiar tune being played. The song playing was a classic from the year 1910, but she remembered the song for a different reason. It wasn't just the song that she loved when she was fifteen that her mother hated and called ruckus.

It was their song, she thought. In the midst of the plunging rain, she heard the radio hum, 'Come Josephine, in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes. Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air she goes. There she goes. Up, up, a little bit higher, oh my, the moon is on fire,' she gasped. Was Jack looking down at her at this very moment to tell her that he was there? She hoped so, laying back onto the pillows still thinking about her wish. Rose fell back to sleep, with the tune serving as a lullaby and another streak of lightning followed, lighting up the sky with intensity.