Sometimes the days were darker than usually. Or rather, darker than celestial paradise. The loss of the man of the cloth's older brother, John and his wife, Beth in a car accident not only turned downward on 360 degrees his life and the day he just received a letter from the epispocate for being appointed as a Cardinal, but also his handsome, yet youthful face was tear-stained and no longer wearing the charming, radiant smile that smeared across his lips. Radiant, charming smile that blossomed as a spring flower in the wee days of spring every time when the pride flapped its golden, divine wings which enveloped his flimsy heart. Or eventually, unspeakable glee every time whenever he beheld his favorite nun, or they just had their own short conversations before getting back to the real, sinister business that awaited them.

The aspiring Monsignor was seating in his office by contemplating glassily, blankly the calendar as it read approximately the first days of October. Even the warmest chocolate pigment that glinted his big, fueled with benevolent, sheer innocence lost its brightest chocolate brown pigment, consequently tinting them the palest, the blandest brown. His berry-coloured, dry lips were curled in a grotesque, mournful frown which wasn't displaced whether with a half-hearted or a genuinely beaming smile across his lips. His long, pristine fingers were tapping in unnerved manner the hardwood desk in his austere, unwelcoming office in the wee hours of midnight. He received a phone call from his solely alive sibling, his older brother Daniel, who broke the eventual news about the car accident and the victims of it.

Bittersweet, crystal tears have already poured as a heavy rain on his still young-looking, parchment complexion, staining it in dew of moistness. The middle-aged man was just sitting in his office, doing his own business or pacing in the abysmal, long hallways of the infamously gruesome madhouse, in order to look after patients approximately rarely in the common room, being accompanied by his right hand, Sister Jude. Although keeping it cool on outside without showing any hints of dubiousness in his behavior and emotions, his heart was still aching and mourning over the fresh death of Beth and John. He could scarcely figure out how still young souls they were that to pass away in balefully brutal car crash today.

As his great potential to become a Cardinal and then Pope were on very top of his priorities and Judy being the Mother Superior too, otherwise his blizzard of thoughts wasn't as sorted as before. He was so far befuddled to think clearly and rationally after this roller coaster from the letter and his formal appointment as a Cardinal to the loss of 2 significant family members broke his heart. Not only the priest was heartbroken to pieces, moreover his mother, Teresa.

The silence was consuming Timothy along with the heartbreak. He wiped with a thumb his last drying, stray tears from his puffy, ruddy eyes as if the rain has suddenly stopped at last.

All of a sudden, a handful of sufficiently audible door raps caught him off guard, snapping him out of his train of thoughts as little did he know who was his uninvited guest in the middle of the night. Whether Frank or Judy, it was still a tough challenge for the member of the clergy to have an adequate conversation with either of them today, eschewing from sniffling quietly and allowing freely the waterfall of intermittent tears to gush down his cheeks. The holy man must conceal underneath his mask the severe emotions and feelings of grief and sorrow especially now.

Without replying, the office door opened abruptly by the older woman as Jude, herself, was widely awake in the middle of the night and noting bizarre, significant change in her boss's demeanor lately. Not these days but it was since today. Even when the blonde beheld him in the dim light and profound corridors of the nuthouse or in the common room, she didn't behold the same Monsignor at all. It was actually Timothy Howard concealing the darkness of his true emotions and feelings he felt and being himself instead the revered man of the cloth, who eagerly pursued his dreams even the most divine ones.

"M-Monsignor?" The older lady murmured softly as immense concern was accentuating her stutter when she was approaching the hardwood bureau. "I didn't mean to intrude or anything but,"

"Everything is okay, Jude! You may take a seat." He maneuvered with his mammoth, veiny hand to his rara avis to take a seat against him without an ado as a melancholic, rueful smile was swaying across his baby pinkish lips. His chocolate brown pools were darted to her, trying to not doubt her expectancies. "So what were you about to say right now?"

"One of the patients was widely awake by causing turmoil and Frank needed to check on him what his fit of madness was." In the meantime, the younger man's hands were into his slacks' pockets uneasily, locking up hazelish-brown irises. "And yeah, it wasn't that problematic at all, but Frank yelled at him to not wake up the rest of the patients in the men's wing." Suddenly, the British compatriot swallowed a solid, sour lump, formed in his throat. Meantime, the sister of the church's smile wiped off from her face once she heeded her boss wasn't the same. Her heart arched to figure out lastly what was bothering him by posing the question directly shortly after her monologue dies. "For heaven sake, what's going on, Timothy? You seem quite disquiet today."

"Sometimes I've my own times when the personal problems just," The British aristocrat produced a stammer in harmonic style as his lips curled at the retaliation as sanguineness tinted his cheeks with sweltering heat crawling beneath its facial skin. "I can't help but still think of it."

"What is bothering ya right away, Timothy?" Wry, dry chuckle tickled the corners of her mouth as she squinted up with childish inquisitiveness at him, nibbling on the silken skin of her bottom plumpish lip. "It's fine if yar not fine with spilling the tea. I didn't mean to pry or something."

"You aren't prying, Jude! I just have an issue in my family."

"Didn't ya lose somebody in a car accident or a divorce befell yar siblings?" Even when the Bostonian knew slightly about the British emigrant's family background and his story in general, she opted to allege what was hiding behind the mask of the man of the cloth, exposing his true face, whether of the goodwill or the evil.

"I just lost my brother John and his wife Beth in a car crash earlier today. My older brother, Daniel phoned me to announce me these heartrending news!" In the interval, the holy woman's heart ached, due to the fact her love interest shared with her what was the crucial reason for his obnoxious drastic change in his demeanor. On one hand, the middle-aged lady wished she didn't ask just moments ago and to be out of his office in a jiff, whilst on other hand she couldn't put a finger on it. Factly, Judy and Timothy possessed an arcanely potent bond which was unexplainable and she couldn't help, howsoever, inquire her favorite priest about his recent condition and the core of it.

Temporal silence arched between both adults as the nun ducked her head meekly, "And they have 2 children. Samantha, who is ten-year-old only, while her younger brother Charlie is with 5 years her junior. They're so young without their parents."

"I'm very sorry to hear all this, Timothy! I'm sure yar mother can take care of them or Daniel, yar older brother, at least!"

"My mother can't, whilst Daniel is on a business trip for almost a month in Ireland, which means the only person," Timothy stuttered, struggling to peel a single word after the severe loss of John and Beth as one of his hands was no longer into his slacks' pockets, taking the fidgety, petite hand of his right hand into his larger, amusingly warm one as the thumb kneaded the back of her hand, in order to absorb mutual console and warmness. "Who must be responsible for Samantha and Charlie are me."

"Oh! But I'm sure ya can't look after them on yar own all alone, Timothy! Ya need a helping hand." In the meanwhile, the blonde puffed an inward, sorrowful inhale. "Why yar mother can't look after the kids?"

"She's quite old and too heartbroken so that to ensure them what's exactly needed until Daniel is back." Meantime, the holy woman relished the moment when her hand was squeezed into the Monsignor's larger, creamy as satin one. "Moreover, you're absolutely right! I need a helping hand to take care of these rays of sunshine." Suddenly, he paused by taking his time to ponder and sorting his mind for a rational response especially about the concept of his right hand being their foster mother and they supervise the half-orphans since he has thought Jude would be an amazing mother with the children, regardless little did he know about her past and she was too old to bare her own child. "And I think the ideal mother for them since Beth is no longer among us is you!"

"M-Me?" With her solely free hand, the pious woman of the cloth pawed with the palm of her hand her chest, indicating the frequent, vigorously hammering fragile heart into her ribs cage as she the least expected Timothy would have chosen her as his deceased brother children's foster mother. A slight, tearfully merry smile flourished upon her porcelain, scarcely wrinkled face.

"Yes, rare bird! Just 2 of us being their parents, no matter how insane it sounds to you!"

"Ya don't have any idea how much I yearned to be a mother. I'd love to be Samantha and Charlie's mother, of course!" A slight, content smile through the tear-stained, ruddy complexion shimmered, vibrantly contrasting after the heavy rain of emotions and feelings, poured into a monotonous symphony. The younger man didn't necessitate any explaination for the Bostonian being infertile especially in this stage of her life. She was beyond touched by his kindness and offer as well. "But hold on a second, what about yar Rome dream and being a Cardinal and then the Pope?"

"I'll gladly resign from the church as these celestial opportunities to rise in the hierarchy are no longer part of my care. I just want to be a normal man with his own mere needs and concerns, not a priest, who can't taste once in his life something delightful just like the general population."

"Ya know what, Timothy?" The older lady earned promptly her boss's attention with her mumble in honeyed voice as he thrummed, bobbed his head in agreement, acknowledging her instant response. "I'm coming with ya and from tomorrow we will formally resign from the church."

"And don't forget, I'll book our tickets for London and we will be able finally being parents of 2 spectacular children." In the interval, the younger man chewed his bottom, pale-pinkish lip, followed by dramatic, reluctant clearing of his throat. "Do you remember what I promised you?"

"Mhm."

"Wherever you go, I go!" The aspiring, Monsignor whispered in velvety voice, reminding his right hand his solemn promise.

"Yeah, I do! I'm completely sure ya will be a wonderful father with them."

"I bet you're going to be a great mother with them. I can already imagine how purely they will love you." The British compatriot could already drown in the reverie of his love interest being a caring, doting and selfless mother with the half-orphans by playing with them cards or their dolls, running around the grandiose yard of the luxurious, monumental two-story, Victorian style mansion as their joyous laughs and screams float in the background in the sunniest or the cloudiest days of the year and helping them with their difficult homework if they struggled, in case.