Addison followed Joanna’s finger, and seeing what looked like a ray gun sitting atop a cabinet, Addison tilted her head to the side. A second later, the penny dropped. “Oh, right,” she said, looking back at Joanna. “You used a...um...a breast pump.”

“Exactly.”

“Does it hurt?”

Joanna’s dimples sprang to life. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Good,” Addison said, returning her attention to Sheridan.

It was the first time they had truly been alone all day, and while Addison remained focused on the baby in her arms, Joanna remained focused on Addison. Her loss of weight couldn’t be missed, but it wasn’t until just then when Joanna began to notice the other changes in her wife. Threads of gray now intertwined with those of dark brown and laugh lines once appearing only when Addison smiled, now seemed to be permanent. Yet, the most drastic change was that the hardness which had once enveloped Addison, the stern look, the rigid jaw, the sculpted marble of her façade that had remained in place for years, was gone. To Joanna, Addison appeared to be at peace now. Comfortable in her skin, in her life, and in her love, her features had calmed, adding more to her beauty than Joanna ever thought possible.

As she continued to covertly stare at her wife, Joanna noticed Addison seem enthralled with something in the corner of the room, and following her line of sight, Joanna grinned as she turned back to Addison. “You know, I bought those mobiles to entertain the babies, not you.”

Caught in the act, Addison gazed at her wife. “I know it’s going to sound odd, but the butterflies kind of remind me of...well, of me, although I’m not that colorful.”

“As long as we’re not talking about language, I’d have to agree,” Joanna said, smiling. “But I don’t see the connection.”

Addison took a moment to get her thoughts together. “Butterflies start their lives in a cocoon, and protected from things that could harm them, they grow into adulthood and then emerge, spread their wings and fly away. Away from their past and toward their present, never looking back, never caring where they come from, almost like me. Except, you see, I could never stop looking back and remembering how...how painful it was to love someone who never returned that love.