Mrs. Edwards—perhaps soon to be Ms. Edwards—stands up straight at the kitchen counter, water rapidly pouring from the faucet in front of her. Her naturally wavy, golden blonde hair drops just past her shoulders with a few streaks of gray hidden within its layers. Dirty dishes float to the top of the sink and, although her arms are resting on the edge of the countertop, she just stares down at the rising water instead of actually cleaning the kitchenware.

Lingering in front of the arched entrance leading to the living room, Shane finds himself staring at his wife as he collects his thoughts. Mounted high above him is the head of a stag overlooking the small room, its lifelike appearance both intriguing and creepy. It was a project he had finished not even a month ago but, right when pay day arrived, the buyer flaked on him so he decided to keep it for himself. Besides, it matches perfectly with the other trophies he has set on display in the den. He clears his throat before speaking, although his voice still remains brittle. "It's just... Only seeing the kids—and you—on the weekend? That's not enough for me. Deb, like I said I really think we can work through this if we try. Just please give me another chance."

She keeps her back turned to him, still looking down at the sink.

Figuring that she's more than likely still processing everything, he lets out a deep sigh as he rubs at his forehead vigorously. "Deborah?"

Still no response. Crossing his arms, he takes a step forward as he considers his next words. Lately he has felt as if he has to walk on eggshells around her but, for that, he has no one to blame but himself. After discovering an entirely new side to him, he knows that it is a lot to take in and that she won't be able to accept him overnight. It's a work in progress. One that he is more than happy to stand beside her through as they work together to figure things out.

"Date night. We can go on a picnic at Victoria Park like we used to." He smiles, reminiscing on the weekly routine they had stopped doing only a couple of years into their marriage due to them being tied up with their jobs. Then the kids came along. After the separation, he can't think of a better way to reconcile than to take a trip down memory lane. "We can sit on a blanket next to the lake. Feed the ducks. Oh, can't forget the boxed wine."

"Mom! Dad!" Lucas, a cute eight-year-old who shares the same hair color as his mother, interrupts as he comes running into the kitchen so fast that his socks nearly cause him to slip on the linoleum floor. "Look!"

Shane looks down at his son, who is far too excited judging by the grin stretching across his small face.

Lucas holds up a sheet of paper folded to resemble that of a frog, his attempt at the origami lesson his class was studying earlier today in school. He hollers excitedly. "It's a frog!"

"Nice." Shane nods, not at all bothered by his abrupt entrance. "Can it jump?"

"Of course it can. That's what frogs do!" Lucas says, setting it on the small island rolled out in the center of the kitchen. He pushes down on the backside of the frog with his index fingers and, if correctly made, it is supposed to bounce up a couple of inches and land back on its triangle-shaped feet. Instead, the paper flips to its side as if the amphibian had croaked. He frowns, looking at it disappointingly. "It was earlier."

Although in reality it is just a wad of crumbled paper, Shane couldn't be more proud of his son. Lucas has always looked up to him and is constantly trying to pick up new hobbies in an attempt to follow in his father's footsteps. If it involves craft, assembling something, or just anything creative in general—sign him up. "I believe you. Where's your sister?"

"In her room. She said she needs to be alone." He rolls his eyes, raising his tone to a high-pitched squeak as he mocks his older sibling. "Paisley wants to write in her diary."

Her mind elsewhere, Deborah continues to face the counter in silence. The water has now reached the stainless steel trim bordering the sink's edge.

"Mom." Lucas walks over to her, barely tall enough to reach her hip as he tugs at the skirt of her apron in another attempt to grab her attention. He gently holds the frog in an open palm, treating it as if it were real. "Mom."

"Hey." Shane says softly as he grabs his son's shoulder. "Your mom needs some time alone too. How about we go downstairs?"

"To the workshop?! Cool!" He screams, nearly jumping up and down as he scurries over to the basement door. As he reaches for the handle, he stops to glance back at his parents. "Are you going to be staying with us now?"

"We'll see, buddy." Shane looks at his wife as he walks over to join him. He grabs the doorknob, twisting to pull the door open. "We'll see."

The door shuts behind them as they enter the basement. Heading down the staircase, their heavy footsteps can be heard from the kitchen as the wood creaks under their combined weight.

Water steadily drips from the edge of the counter to the floor, a puddle now surrounding Deborah's fleece house slippers as the sink continues to overflow.