AN: Happy Mom Day to some of you, and happy it's finally spring to anyone else. SoMa as usual. Nameless daughter as usual. Hope you like.

She is still not accustomed to Mother's Day being a celebration. The happiness of the past was overshadowed by days spent curled up with old letters. It was supposed to be her annual reminder of how broken up her family was. A reminder of how she loved her mother, but there still wasn't an excuse for her absence. Because she didn't divorce her daughter, she divorced her damn unfaithful husband. And that's why it was too alarming when that all started changing for her. It's almost upsetting being jolted awake by small hands on her face and an excited voice yelling at her to "wake up mama we brought you breakfast!" Those green eyes that shine with anticipation and energy that's almost too much, and all directed at her.

Sharp knees and elbows dig into her stomach as she struggles to sit up and readjust the small girl into a manageable position. Shouts and ramblings of how "papa helped me make the eggs, but I poured the orange juice," and, "the lady next door let me have some of her flowers" fill the room, finally forcing her into alertness.

"Didn't you forget something, sweetheart?" His voice comes from the bedroom door.

"Happy Mother's Day!" She shouts as if her whole life was leading up to the moment, or at least her whole morning.

And now Maka notices how tame her thick white hair is, pulled meticulously into a ponytail that she can only imagine Soul spending a little too long taking care of. She can't keep the small smile off of her face. There's no point to really. It's a happy occasion, and her daughter is practically exploding with the excitement of the family's fifth Mother's Day. But something is still holding her back. Something in the form of a woman whose scent she can almost remember. A woman who she looks up to yet never sees. A woman who she shouldn't allow to once again ruin this day for her. Maka presses a sloppy kiss into her daughter's hair, causing her to squirm away, giggling.

Soul finally walks into the room, barely balancing the spoken of breakfast on the only tray they have in the house. Maka watches in amusement as the girl scampers off of the bed and out of the room, probably to get the flowers that she had mentioned. That's the queue for the tears to start. Slowly at first, but picking up until she's sobbing and can't seem to stop. And Soul, wonderful man that he is, is prepared. The tray is set to the side and he has an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly into him, saying nothing because there's nothing to say. She knows he hates it. She knows he hates that this woman who he's never met can do this to her. Because an absent mother is not an enemy he can protect her from. Maka thinks of what it could have been like. She knows she shouldn't do that to herself, shouldn't torture herself with painful hypotheticals, but it's not something she has control over.

"Here she is." His voice is comforting and close to her ear.

Those words are more than a simple observation. Because that small girl carrying the vase of flowers that she put so much thought into is hers. Maka has to remind herself that her daughter is there for her and Soul is there for her. And maybe it's time to move on. Not from her mother, but from her old Mother's Day. Because those smiles –gap-toothed and shark like–are both for her and her alone. That little girl is a testament to the love that she and Soul share, and she's not planning on leaving and he's different from her father. Her family isn't broken, it's shiny and new, only five years in the making. Because Mother's Day is a celebration, and it's celebrating her.

Eggs were never Soul's forte, so they're a little overcooked, but she swears they're the best eggs she's ever eaten. She tells her baby about how pretty the flowers are and how there's just the right amount of orange juice. Soul just smiles with her, listening as their daughter babbles about everything and nothing. Soul finds her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze because she's crying again. But she's not crying because of "return to sender" stamps or the fact that she is no longer sure of the sound of her own mother's voice. She is thinking about the inconceivable and infinitely possible future. And she's crying because of how perfect this moment is. Her daughter warms her heart and her husband continues to warm her hand as he toys with the wedding band on her finger in that way that he often does. There's no way she'll let it go to hell either. It's for selfish reasons really. Because she wants more of these breakfasts, she wants more spilled juice on the hardwood floor, and she wants more of a shrieking bundle of energy rocketing away from her father as she avoids taking a bath.

It's a morning that she honestly doesn't want to see the end of, but the passing of time brings with it more than bacon and eggs with some tulips on the side. It brings the rest of a beautiful and perfect spring day spent with her equally beautiful and perfect family. And it eventually brings tucking in her now lethargic daughter, a kiss on the forehead soliciting a little mumble that's barely recognizable as "love you, mama."

And soon it's her forehead that's being kissed, and it's his turn alone to lather her in attention. There really isn't any more time to think about her mother because his red eyes are all she can see, and she knows it's the same for him. She appreciates the thrumming of his soul, matching up perfectly with hers as it always does.

"I love you," she mumbles into him, face now pressed to his chest.

He makes her look at him again before brushing his stubble against her cheek.

"I love you too. Happy Mother's Day.'

And the words mean more than he even knows.