I gave birth to my second son, who we named Henry, after my father. As my children grew, I watched them develop personalities of their own; Gabriel was outgoing and adventurous, and little Henry was shy and docile. My husband, over the two years that had passed since Henry's birth, began to drink. When he came home at night, mostly he would just fall asleep. Sometimes, however, if I said something that made him bad-tempered, he would strike me - or my children, if they were within reach. It was a cold and stormy night; the boys were nestled down in the bed that they shared, and I had just finished singing them to sleep. Seconds later, I heard Marcus stumble drunkenly through the front door. I gazed down at my sons, the two angels before me. Oh, how quickly they had grown in such a short time. So innocent...so pure and full of life. Trying to make little noise, I stood and gave them each a kiss on the forehead, whispering to them that I loved them. "Henry, Gabriel...my children, my angels...sleep well. May your dreams be sweet, my loves." With this, I left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. When I entered the kitchen, Marcus was on an angry rampage, throwing pots and pans against the wall and swearing loudly about something or another. "Darling, please, the children are sleeping," I cried. His shoulders heaving up and down with each breath, his hair wild, he turned and scowled at me. There was an animal glint in his eye that filled me with unspeakable fear. As he approached, I backed myself against the wall. I was no longer a mother, or a wife; I was a scared little girl with no place to run. The anger in his eyes and his hand coming toward me are the last things I remember. The only thing I wish is that my children were okay in the end... ...That they survived without me. ~*~ Third and final piece. Hope you all enjoyed. ^_^ Thanks for viewing, comments welcome.