Part XI

When George came near Grace's room, he heard her crying through the door, and, instantly, he felt a pang at his heart. He opened the door gently, peering inside, the sight under the flickering candlelight sharpened the pang in his core – his little Grace was curling up in her maid's cradle, her head draping over the shoulder of her maid, hiccoughing, sniffling, she was rubbing her wet eyes with her small hands.

The father entered into the room quietly, listening intently to his daughter's doleful breathings, her little sobs, and the sound of the maid patting her back. The young maid quickly rose from the edge of the bed as soon as she spotted her master coming in, and was about to curtsy when her master gestured her to be seated.

Neither the quiet footfalls of her father nor the jostling in her maid's arms had stirred little Grace, she continued hiccoughing and sniffling and wiping the tears off her eyes until…

"Grace…" George spoke, very gently, mindful of not startling his precious child.

But little Grace was startled indeed. Her small person jerked as soon as she heard her father's voice, her grip on Lucy's neck tightened, and she hid her face in the crook of Lucy's neck.

Just as the child's grip on her maid tightened, the severity of the pang at the father's tender heart intensified.

"Grace," George continued, "Papa is here to…"

He had barely begun, but the two-year-old screamed and wailed in her maid's bosom, "No! Papa, No! Please… please do not take me to the gaol!" and she begged in fearful tears.

If a child's tears could pierce a parent's heart, the father's heart had just been torn into pieces. Nevertheless, he would go on.

"My dearest Grace," his voice remained gentle, "Papa is not here to take you to the gaol…"

Yet the two-year-old shook her head vehemently, unwilling to believe her father. "No! Papa, no! I do not want to live in the gaol… Please, Papa… please do not take me to the gaol… "

The trembling child had fastened herself to her maid and hidden her face under her maid's chin, and when her father laid his hand on her back, she flinched immediately at his softest touch.

George waited for several moments, allowing Grace to catch her breath, and, hopefully, to calm. When he saw that she was less shaken, he said gently, even gentler than before, "I promise you that I am not here to take you to the gaol…"

Although little Grace still shrank from his touch, at least, this time, the mention of gaol did not cause her to scream.

"Grace," George went on cautiously, with deep sensitivity, "Papa loves you; I would never take you to the gaol…"

He paused, mindful of not reaching for her again, persisting to wait very patiently. At length, he was encouraged to see that she had stopped trembling, her clutch on Lucy's neck had come loosen a little, and her tensed person was beginning to slacken in her maid's arms.

"I promise you that I would never take you to the gaol," he said more, and Grace's arms round Lucy loosened more still. "Has Papa ever broken a promise to you?" he implored.

It was silent.

No more hiccoughing, no more sniffling from the little one. The father could almost hear his daughter thinking, remembering, considering his words. Then he saw her head slowly pivoting from under Lucy's chin, with red swollen eyes looking at him – little Grace shook her head.

The father's heavy heart was uplifted by the progress. He drew a deep breath, holding Grace's shimmering gazes with his own intently, "You know that Papa loves you very much, do not you?" tenderly he entreated.

Again, it was silent.

But very soon, Grace began to remove her arms round Lucy, slowly pulling away and twisting her small body to face George. The two-year-old, looking directly into her father's eyes, with sparkles of an innocent, happy, beloved child returning, and a smile that was curling up her rosebud lips – nodded at her father.

Smiling so warmly, and invitingly, and lovingly, George extended his hands towards Grace, carefully observing her reaction, and when she did not shrink or shudder, he gently took her small fingers, then her hands, and then made his final request, "Would not you come to Papa, my dearest Grace?"

Without the tiniest of hesitations, with wide opened arms and a cherubic smile, little Grace flew into her father's arms and wrapped her limbs around him, hiding, very happily, and trustingly, in the turn of her papa's neck, basking in the love of her papa's heart.

And the happiness in the father was no less abounding! George folded Grace tightly in his arms, as if she were the most precious treasure the world could give. The father smothered numerous kisses on his beloved daughter, on her dishevelled curls, her sweaty forehead, on the tip of her little nose, and her tear-streaked, red soft cheeks.

Seeing that her child mistress no longer teary and distraught, the young maid was immensely relieved, and she was grateful for her master's bidding her to returning to bed. Sleepy Lucy curtsied, stifled a yawn, and left the father and daughter to their own accord.

When Lucy was no longer within their sight, George sat down with Grace on her bed.

For a while the father and daughter did not speak. The two-year-old was contented to nestle her cheeks on her papa's shoulder, twirling the hair on the back of his head with her little fingers, while her father was gratified of having his precious daughter wrapped tightly in his arms.

At last, a little voice broke the silence.

"Papa…" little Grace said softly, straightening herself in her father's arms to look into his eyes.

"Yes, Grace…" her father answered promptly.

Cupping her papa's face with two small hands, "I am sorry that I did not keep my promise…" said the child.

George was touched by Grace's confession; a grateful smile broke out of his kind face while he had in mind his own confession to make.

Looking sincerely into Grace's eyes, "Papa is sorry, too!" he imparted.

A spark of curiosity lit up the child's eyes, tilting her head, "Why are you sorry, Papa?" she asked.

"Papa is sorry for asking you to make the wrong promise," said the father.

"Wrong promise?" little Grace looked at her papa quizzically, "You did not wish me to share Mama with you at night?"

George smiled, "Of course Papa wishes to spend time with your mother at night. But it was wrong of Papa to ask you for a promise so that I could have your mother all to myself."

"Why was it wrong, Papa?"

"Because Papa was being selfish, Grace."

A crease was formed between the child's brows, she shook a dimpled finger at her father, "It is unkind to be selfish, Papa. Mama always tells me and William that we must not be selfish but learn to be generous!"

"Your mother is right!" George agreed wholeheartedly.

"Does it mean I could go to Mama when I wake up at night?'

"Now – that – is what I am here to speak with you about."

Little Grace's inquisitive eyes fixed at her papa.

Settling Grace next to him on the bed, "Grace," George began, "do you know that when you were an infant, you rarely stayed asleep for more than half an hour?"

"Nurse said that I used to cry all the time! She said that Williams was far more agreeable than me when I was a baby!" The two-year-old folded her arms crossly, apparently not quite happy with Nurse.

"But you improved."

"I sure did!" she said a matter-of-factly.

"You began sleeping through the night when you were a year old."

"And I hardly ever cry!"

"That is because you have grown, Grace."

Feeling proud of her accomplishment, the two-year-old beamed a smug grin at her father.

"And as you grow, you are capable of things that you were not able to do when you were an infant."

"Such as eating desserts!" little Grace offered excitedly, "I am allowed to eat sweetmeats, puddings, and fruit tarts, when William could only suckle Mama!"

Her father laughed. "Yes, you are allowed to have desserts."

"And I could skip, hop, and jump! I could tie the strings on William's gowns and play with my dolls… I could even read words, Papa! Mama teaches me a new word every day!"

"Your mother and I are very proud of you, Grace," said her papa. "But there are other things you could do as you grow."

"Other things?" Little Grace thought that she had already named all her accomplishments.

"Such as soothing yourself to sleep when you awake at night," supplied the father.

George noticed the bewildered look on his two-year-old. "Tell me, Grace," he said, "before the thunder awoke you three weeks ago, you had woken up at night and fallen asleep without going to your mother, had not you?"

Grace thought for a moment, she nodded.

"That means you were capable of soothing yourself to sleep…"

"All on my own!" the lively child was eager to proffer.

"Yes, all on your own!" her father smiled to agree. "But something happened since the night the thunder struck, you began going to your mother when you awake rather than returning to sleep on your own."

"The thunders frightened me, Papa!" little Grace said to her father, the thought of the thunders still troubled her.

"Yes, Papa could see why you were frightened by the thunders, Grace. But there has not been thunder since that night, yet, you have not been soothing yourself to sleep these past three weeks."

"Because I want Mama to come to sleep with me," the innocent child spoke honestly.

Her father was not surprised.

"Mama is soft, Papa!" the two-year-old added cheerfully, "Mama is warm, too! And she smells like flowers, Papa! Beautiful flowers like roses… and lavender… and honeysuckle. I love Mama cuddling me to sleep at night!"

A tingling sensation flushed George's heart. He agreed with everything that his daughter had said about her mother – his wife – but in drastically different ways! For the husband relished the way the sweet scents of his darling wife bewitched his senses, how her warmth wrapped enticingly round his person and penetrated his heart, and how exquisite her soft skin felt under his palms and against his bare skin…

The sensation brought a quiet sigh to George, but the master of self-restraints quickly reigned in his stray thoughts and steered his mind back to the important task at hand.

"I know how much you love being with your mother, Grace," said the father, "but as you grow, the ability to sooth yourself to sleep is an important skill to learn and to keep."

"Why is it important, Papa?" asked the inquisitive child.

"Because having restful sleeps are important in keeping good health, and it is paramount to your growth as a child. But when you would not allow yourself to fall asleep, stirring to rise to go to your mother, your sleep is interrupted and it would become an obstacle to your growing over time."

"I promise you that I would grow well, Papa!" the child pledged earnestly. "Would not you let me go to Mama when I awake?"

"That is a good promise, Grace. But other than your health, being able to sooth yourself to sleep is an important skill to learn for anyone."

"Even for me?"

"Particularly for you," remarked the father. "As you grow, you shall learn to take responsibilities suitable for your age. And one of those responsibilities is sleeping without your mother or other's attendance."

"What is re-res-pond-so-bill-bill-lities… Papa?"

"Responsibilities are duties that you do, either for yourself or others. We each have our own responsibilities. Papa, your mother, your grandfather, and you, we all have responsibilities, even William has his."

"But William is only a baby!" Little Grace had been listening to her father attentively; such remarks from her father had widened her eyes.

"Yes, William is only a baby, but his responsibilities lie in his natural instincts of being an infant. It is Papa and your mother's duty to clothe him, nourish him, love him, and raise him to be as healthy a boy as he could be. But William is the one who does the suckling, the sleeping, and the growing, is not he?"

"And William loves suckling Mama and to sleep," the big sister added with a knowing smile, "and Mama says he is growing very well!"

"Precisely," said the father, "William is doing his duties, which is taking his responsibilities very well at his age. As for you, Grace, you have a different set of responsibilities, and you have been doing most of them exceedingly well – You are kind, gentle, and patient with your baby brother, you keep the teachings of your mother and Papa in your heart, and you have shown your grandfather affection that makes him very happy."

"But…" the astute child seemed to know what her father was going to say, with a timid voice she carried on his speech, "I have not been doing my re-res-pon-si-bility to sooth myself to sleep…" and she looked crest fallen in her guilt-ridden face.

"This is why Papa wishes to see you working on this particular responsibility, Grace," revealed her father, without censure or disapprobation, only kindness and patience and altruism in his voice.

"But, Papa…" the two-year-old looked up at her father wryly, "what if I cannot sooth myself to sleep?" asked she.

"Ah, my dear Grace, have you forgotten that you have been falling asleep without your mother or anyone's attendance since you were one year old?"

"But… but what if I have forgotten how to fall asleep on my own, Papa?" was little Grace's anxious plea.

"Papa could assure you that you have not forgotten it, Grace. Falling asleep on your own is a natural ability that we all have…"

"We all have… even William?" inquired the two-year-old.

"Yes, even William." George's mouth quirked, an idea had just entered his mind. "In fact," he went on, "your mother told me that William had begun sleeping through the night when I was away, and he has been sleeping on his own at night without your mother's attendance ever since."

"He has?" the big sister seemed quite affected by the intelligence of her baby brother.

"If your infant brother could fall asleep on his own," the father said cautiously, "do you think you could do the same, Grace?"

"Err…" a battle of will was waging inside little Grace, "I… suppose…" she murmured, "I could…" she said, unsurely however. "What if I cannot, Papa?" her will wobbled again, "Would you send me to the gaol?" and her rosy cheeks turned pale.

George smiled kindly at Grace, lifting her off the bed and placing her on his knee, "Grace," his arms holding her shoulders securely, and his eyes looking reassuringly into hers, "what Papa wants is for you to relearn the skill of soothing yourself to sleep, which has nothing to do with the gaol or any sort of punishment. It is an important skill for you to have, and Papa shall be very pleased to see that you regain this skill.

"And remember," he added, "being responsible is honourable."

"On-ner-able?" the little one's curiosity was piqued again.

"Being honourable is a very important virtue. When we tend our responsibilities with diligence, we are being honourable. As the descendent of the Knightley family, we should strive to be honourable and worthy of the name of our forefathers, my dear Grace."

"Are you hon-hon-our-able, Papa?" asked the child, very seriously.

"It is something that Papa endeavours to be since I was a boy," answered George.

"I want to be like you, Papa!" the two-year-old, who adored her papa, declared. "Do you think I can be hon-our-able?"

"I know you can, Grace, Papa believes in you!" he assured. "And if it would put you at ease, I shall stay outside of your chamber until you are asleep."

"You mean" little Grace perked, eyes shining bright, "you would stay outside my chamber – tonight?"

"Yes, I shall stay outside of your chamber tonight," replied her father.

"And the morrow night?" the two-year-old asked with irrepressible hopes.

Smiling, her father nodded.

"And the night after the morrow night?" she pressed even further.

George chuckled. "Yes, Grace," he said, recomposing himself, "Papa shall stay outside of your chamber for the next several nights, but the length of my stay shall be shortened in each subsequent night. This way, you shall learn to place your reliance on yourself, not on Papa."

He folded Grace in his arms fully again, held her tenderly for a while before unclasping her to tell her, "It is time that you go to bed."

Little Grace suddenly turned weary, "Must I go to bed now, Papa…" she began to petition, but was faltered by a yawn.

"Yes, Grace, it is very late," said her father, gently laying her down in bed. He soothed her long curly hair and her nightdress, placed her favourite doll in her arms, and pulled the soft blanket over her small chest and her doll.

Kneeling down by the bed, George pressed a tender kiss on Grace's forehead, but as he rose to take his leave, he heard a mousey little voice asking, "Will there be thunder tonight?"

"It is a beautiful night tonight," replied he, gesturing Grace to look out of the window to see the bright moon hanging above, "not a speck of cloud in the sky, I do not think there will be thunder or lightning tonight."

"Err…" the two-year-old stalled, "What if there is, Papa?"

"I really do not think there shall be thunder or lightning, Grace."

"But what if there is, Papa?" the child insisted desperately.

"If there is, Papa shall be near you."

The father could tell that his daughter was simply trying to delay the inevitable. He stood next to the bed for a moment, awaiting patiently her next words.

And at last, "Would… Mama… come?" the little girl asked what she had long been meaning to ask.

George wished he could give Grace the answer that she wished, but he and Emma had decided that if they were to train their children, it must not be put off. He knelt down by the bed again, looking lovingly at her, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb, "Your mother loves you very much, Grace," he assured, "but she wants you to learn to fall asleep on your own as much as Papa does. She shall be very proud of you when she sees you in the morning." He pressed another kiss on her forehead, "Now close your eyes and sleep, my dear child."

But instead of closing her eyes, George saw that his two-year-old was clamping the doll and blanket nervously to her chest, her bright hazel eyes grew gloomy and there was anxiety flickering along the candlelight, her small person laid stiffened in her bed, and her shimmering gaze seemed begging him not to go but to stay.

For a brief moment, the father struggled between giving in to his daughter's beckoning and doing what was right as her father, but as he was a man who had always uphold his duties, and the duties of being a father held one of the most reverend places in his heart, he inhaled a silent deep breath and turned to walk towards the door.

As George pulled at the handle of the door, he turned to look at Grace once more, apparently the soft blanket had crept from her small chest all the way to her chin, and he noticed the silhouette of one of her arms clutching her doll dearly to her under the blanket, while the small fingers of her other hand clamping the edge of the blanket so tightly beneath her chin that they had turned white.

The father's soft heart nearly surrendered, but he clung to his resolve and said, "Papa shall be outside," he reassured her, "Good night, Grace."

George heard no reply from Grace, but instead, he saw her distressed eyes following him to the door; he turned, quickly exiting her room.

~o~o~E~o~o~M~o~o~M~o~o~A~o~o~

The servants must have noticed their master was in his daughter's chamber, several candles were left burning in the corridor to light a clear path for him. When the Donwell Master was come back to live in the Abbey with his wife and their first born child, he had ordered several elegant benches be placed by the wall so that his Emma, when attempting to sooth their crying daughter to sleep, could take rests while pacing the length of the corridor. Tonight, aware that it might take a considerable length of time for his two-year-old to be asleep, George decided to take seat on the bench directly across Grace's room.

It was deep into the night, the servants had retired to their quarters for the evening, and it was quiet, so quiet that he could hear the crackles of the burning wax. He had been sitting on the bench for nearly ten minutes, putting his mind to good use planning the repair of the fences at the Donwell home farm, making notes of several matters he needed to speak with William Larkins in the morning in his pocketbook.

Then, amidst the late night silence, a door squeak perked his ear. He looked up from his pocketbook and pencil and saw a crack between the door and the doorframe of the chamber directly across. As the gap widened a little, he saw two hazel jewels blinking bashfully at him. Evidently, the owner of the jewels had climbed out of bed to ascertain that her papa was outside her room.

Unsurprised, George returned Grace's unsure gazes kindly, he was pleased to see a relieved smile brightening her face, and his own face broke into a warm smile, one that assured Grace that he was keeping his promise to her. For a moment or two the father and child held each other's gazes, but when the child pushed the door open wider, stepping beyond the threshold of her room, the father shook his head slightly, yet firmly, and inclined it towards the door, gesturing the child to return to her bed.

Albeit reluctantly, little Grace obeyed her father, retreated behind the doorsill and slowly closed the door. George was thankful that he needed not take Grace back to her bed himself – he knew that it was natural for her to be tempted to leave her bed, so long as he held onto his resolve, he trusted that she would learn her duty.

Another ten minutes had past, George had turned his mind back to the fence repairs, but just as it was earlier, the door across began to squeak and the same pair of sparkling jewels was shining brightly at him. In the same manner, little Grace carefully widened the crack of the door before opening it fully, but instead of looking at her father timidly under her long lashes, her eyes were beaming merrily at him and her pink soft cheeks were illuminating a host of mischiefs. The child lifted one foot in the air with animation, as if she was going to cross the threshold in one giant step, only to land it, with an ear-to-ear grin, within the confine of her room. And when the little rascal saw her papa's raised eye-brows, she burst into a peal of giggles before shutting the door hurriedly and giggling all the way to her bed!

George was amused by his sprightful Grace, in fact, he nearly chuckled when her giggles burst, yet, he knew, if he were to train his daughter, he must not let his amusement be an invitation to her further mischiefs. Fortunately, concealing his delights was one skill that the gentleman had had many a practice on his beloved wife when she was his young friend, he quelled the twitches on his lips, laid his pocketbook and pencil by his side on the bench, sat composedly awaiting the next movement of the door.

It had only taken five minutes for Grace to leave her bed this time, George was ready for his mischievous child, and when she swung the door open with exuberance, he shook his head firmly fixing his eyes on her, not a trace of the fond smile that was rumbling inside could be detected on this father's face, though in spite of how firm his gazes were upon his daughter, there was always an unspoken kindness in them that bespoke his love for her.

There was no doubting that the two-year-old had caught her father's meaning, for she immediately narrowed the opening of the door, her smiling round eyes stealing glances at her father from behind the gap. But one firm head shake from her father, she scrambled to shut the door, ran back to bed in a dash, and pulled her blanket over her head.

Now, dear reader, as most children were notorious in pushing as far as they could before adult's disapproval, just because she had hurried back to bed did not mean that she would stay there for long, and just because her papa had shaken his head at her previously did not mean, to this ebullient child, that he would keep refusing to play with her. Hence, dear little Grace could not resist to open the door the fourth time.

But – as the rapscallion squeezed her head through the unclosed door, scouting for the right moment to jump out of her room, her eyes met the displeased look from her father that sent her scurrying for her doll!

As Grace shut the door for the fourth time, George was tapping a foot on the oaken floor and drumming his fingers on his knee. No – not that his patience for her had worn off, for the father knew his daughter well, but he had to wonder how many times the door had to open and close before the two-year-old would willingly stay in her bed! The father did not wish to scold his child, as each time she had obeyed his silent order to return to bed, but if his rumbustious daughter leave her bed the fifth time, he might indeed need to resort to tougher censure.

Only two minutes into his contemplation, to the father's exasperation, the door opened again. And to the his utmost amazement, not only that his firm stare, along with a vehement shake of his head, could not deter his daughter from swinging the door open wide, she had left, without the tiniest hesitation, the threshold and skipped across the corridor to where he sat!

Dismayed, Geroge felt a scold rising in his throat and was about to open his mouth to let it out, nevertheless, as children often surprised their parents when they least expected, little Grace reached her hand up tugging at her father's shirt, eagerly inviting him to lean forward to her. The father, unsure if he should deliver his disapprobation or oblige his child, reluctantly leaned forward, and as he did, the bare-footed child, grinning sweetly at her papa, threw her arms around his neck.

Standing on the tip of her ten little toes, little Grace pressed two resounding kisses, indulgently, on her father's cheeks, then one on his lips, and when she had done with her affectionate displays, she held her papa's face in her small hands, looked into his eyes and said…

"Good night, Papa! I love you!" leaving him her most adorable milk-toothy smile before padding back to her room.

For a moment, the father was speechless; he watched Grace skipping and bouncing back to her room, wondering how children could exasperate their parents in one moment then melt their hearts into pieces in the next!

Coming out of his wonderment, George blinked to refocus his mind and his sight, just in time to catch Grace's twinkling hazel eyes peering at him through the gaping door. And before the door closed, he was able to return, with the most endearing smile radiated from his proud fatherly heart, "I love you too, Grace!" sending his little seraph off to the comfort of her bed.

As the door of Grace's room closed softly, George's smile continued to illuminate his face, even the dimming flames of the nearly burnt candles seemed shining brighter and livelier in that moment. But when he finally removed his gaze from the closed door, the corner of his eye caught a silhouette at the turn near the end of the corridor. He shifted quickly, too quickly for the silhouette to disappear in time, to catch what it was.

To his greatest delight, albeit a little surprise, the graceful silhouette had belonged to none other than his beautiful wife. Unbeknown to George, Emma had been hiding about the corner watching him and Grace secretly for the past quarter of an hour. Before he left the Mistress Chamber, he had made her promise to stay in her room while he came to Grace, for he knew her tender heart might yield to their daughter before she learnt her duty. The loving mother and wife had willingly submitted to her husband's bidding, but after half an hour of waiting in her chamber, she was anxious to find out what had transpired between her husband and child, thus could not resist espying the two.

Having been caught by George, could not decide whether to hide again or confess – Emma stood shamefacedly at the corner, smiling awkwardly at him under her long pretty lashes. But George cared little that Emma had not stayed in her room as he asked, she had taken care to escape Grace's notice, and he loved that she was near him. The gentleman-husband immediately arose from the bench, held out both his hands smiling lovingly at his beloved wife; he could hardly wait for her to walk into his arms.

The husband invited his wife to sit with him on the bench, and the wife happily snugged close to him. It was in the small hours of the evening, the lovely couple was in little danger of being seen by their servants sitting so intimately outside their daughter's room. And after climbing out of her bed five times, their lively two-year-old willingly – at last! – stayed in her bed, hugging her favourite doll and very soft blanket to sweet dreams!

~o~o~E~o~o~M~o~o~M~o~o~A~o~o~

Since that night, the ancient house had soon returned to its night time orders. Baby William, being the perfect cherub that he was, continued to sleep peacefully through the nights as he had done since he was nine weeks old; his eldest sister, Grace Isabella Knightley, the adored child mistress of Donwell Abbey was quick to learn her responsibility, her papa guarded outside her chamber for only two subsequent evenings and declared that the two-year-old had succeeded at her duty with flying colours.

As for the two little Knightleys' loving parents, their father George was very grateful to reclaim the Mistress Chamber for his night habitat, but he was infinitely more grateful to be able to reclaim his wife for the entirety of the nights, whereas the children's mother, his darling wife and dearest Emma, had turned her mistake into a learning lesson (as her husband had so wisely pointed out to her) that she would be very mindful of allowing their children to throw their nights into disarrays only under unusual circumstances, such as when thunders struck or when the children were in need of her soothing during teething or sickness of sorts, so that she could give the proper attention to her beloved husband as he deserved.

Now that peace and orders and sweet nights were, once again, restored in the Knightley household, it should be the least surprising that the third little Knightleys shall soon join the happy family and add to the blessings of Emma and George!

~ The End ~

A/N: Several readers had thought that Grace seemed too articulate for a two and a half year old child. Even though I have always imagined Emma and Mr Knightley's children would be extremely bright, as both parents were uncommonly clever and astute, and they would speak regularly and frequently to their children, I can't completely disagree with those readers. If I were to rewrite this story I would consider bumping Grace's age up a year… although I do love her as a two-year-old…

It feels good to be able to mark a story 'complete'! :D Thank you so much to everyone who had read this story, especially to those who had reviewed. You guys are wonderful! :)