"It's time."
The words were simple, but they carried weight.
The kind of weight only shared understanding and years of quiet patience could give.
"I suppose it is," one of the women replied, her voice soft yet steady.
"Ross has more than proven himself. Not just as a husband, but as a father too."
"Agreed," another nodded. "Alistair, his eldest, is already ten. And Ross treats him and all the other children the same—no favoritism, no distance. Just love. Steady, unshakable love."
"He's a good man," the third said, almost in a whisper, as if voicing that truth aloud might make it more real, more sacred.
They were seated in a sunlit garden room, the windows thrown open to let in the crisp morning breeze.
Cups of tea sat forgotten on the table between them, steam curling lazily upward.
This wasn't just a casual gathering.
It was a meeting of hearts, a moment of unity forged in silence and understanding.
