"Mama! Wake up!" My three year old daughter shakes me awake, her tiny hands rolling me over to face her.
"Hey, my little star," I whisper, my voice husky and worn. My young daughter smiles widely, showing off the cutest dimples to bless this Earth. I reach up and wipe the dark hair out of her face, resting my fingers on her round cheek.
"Mama! Christmas," She tells me, her voice giddy with excitement. I sit up, sniffing to clear my nose.
Jameson lays dead asleep, his silky locks spilling out onto the pillow. He looks heavenly, too beautiful to be a real person.
"We have to wake your papa up, Penny," I whisper.
"Okay, Mama," Penny whispers back. She stands up to her full three foot tall form, wobbling as she walks across the mattress. I watch as she pounces on her father, giggling and shrieking as he wrestles her into his strong arms. He never seems to be tired, even if he's been jolted from sleep. I love that about Jameson Hawthorne.
"That was a mistake, Snuggle Bug," My husband tickles Penny's chubby belly, making her give a deep belly laugh.
"Papa," She squirms out of his arms, "Christmas!" Jameson laughs.
"Yes! It's Christmas, you smart girl," Jameson scoops Penny up in his arms, carrying her out of our bedroom. She laughs as he kisses her soft hair, and their voices fade off as they reach the stairs.
Jameson and I have stayed in the Hawthorne estate since our marriage, which was five years ago. It's grown to be a place of memories and emotions I could never have felt anywhere else. And I didn't want to leave that behind.
"Heiress, you've finally decided to join us!" My husband grins when I enter one of the many living rooms in our house. I roll my eyes, taking a seat next to him.
Penny wrote a letter to Santa, with my help, requesting doctor supplies so she could be like her Aunt Libby.
Libby went on to be a nurse after she gave birth to a sweet baby boy named Angus Jack Hawthorne. Penny always loves chattering with her favorite aunt. I think the conversations they have are utterly adorable.
Penny rips into her presents, gasping and showing Jameson and I each one she opens. Three pairs of scrubs, a microscope, thermometer, cotton swabs, pipettes, and a lab coat. She runs up the stairs and into her bedroom to try all of the new things on.
"She's precious," I look at the extravagant Christmas tree before us.
"You made her," Jameson reminds me, poking my arm.
"So did you," I reply, "And I love her just as much as I love you."
"That's quite a compliment," Jameson stands up, stretching his legs and retrieving a small present under the tree, handing it to me.
"Open it," He coaxes.
Inside is a simple golden necklace that says the simple word, "Heiress." It looks too expensive, even for me.
I stare at it, a smile rushing onto my mouth.
"Jameson," I look at him, "Thank you." My husband reels me in for a not so innocent kiss.
"There will be more tonight."
