I glower. “You want children.” “Does saying it twice make it more real?” he asks, his fingers touching his jaw. He’s smiling, loving this way too much. “Why would you want children? You’re…you.” “You’re right. I am me. And me wants eight screaming kids, who will bounce on our bed in the morning, who will beg you to braid their hair, who have your beautiful eyes and your brilliant mind. I want it all, Rose. And one day, our children will have it all too.”
