~ George Bernard Shaw
Sunday, April 22nd ~ Early Morning
It wasn't a nightmare, but it was close enough. When Harry woke and turned his head to look at his wife who was sleeping quite peacefully, he knew. It was going to be a not good day judging from the anxiety trying to worm its way out of the pit of what could be called a stomach. Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself to climb quietly out of bed and not pull Daphne's sleeping form close to reassure himself she and the baby were both alright. Stopping only long enough to pull on some sweats, socks and trainers, he headed out to the workshop.
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