Murder Mystery - H.S

50*

Juliet.

Christmas Eve

I never imagined my life would change so drastically in such a short period of time. Meeting someone that means so much to me, being a mother to two beautiful young girls, marrying Harry, and spending Christmas so special like this one. Ever since I woke up this morning, Harry has made us all breakfast. Pancakes with bacon and eggs, a smoothie for all of us—cherries, to be exact—because he knows how much I love it. Plus, he got us a bunch of flowers. For his daughters, pink tulips; for me, white and red.

The kitchen was filled with the contagious joy of laughter. The scent of freshly baked cookies mingled with the warmth of shared laughter, creating a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around us like a blanket. The girls were decorating their cookies while Harry stood between them. Cookie dough in their hairs and clothes—mouths dirty from eating the icing and raw cookie dough. No matter how enormous the mess was in the kitchen, Harry didn't seem to care; all that mattered to him was that they were happy.

"Daddy," Azriela laughs playfully, placing her index finger in her mouth and sucking the icing. "Daddy, that looks just like you!" Harry looks down and gives Azriela a mischievous glare as she squeals.

"I am not old, nor do I have a white beard." Marcline chuckles, as does Azriela. I bite my lower lip to contain my laughter as Harry returns my gaze. "What are you laughing at, mhm?" Azri shrugs and pulls at Harry's shirt.

You're getting old, Daddy," she giggles. "You are this many." And with a smile, she extended her five fingers. As Harry continued to playfully protest Azriela's comparison to Santa, the girls, with their little hands coated in a colorful array of icing.

"Oh, God. Daddy is old." I inhaled deeply, and Harry glanced back at me. "You're also old, Miss Juliet." Biting my lower lip before I could say anything, Marcline was defending me.

 "Mommy is not old." Marceline shakes her head and picks up the cookie she showed us. "Look at my cookie, mommy!"

"Beautiful cookie—I think it does look like daddy." She giggles. Azriela beamed at Harry, proud of her cookie. "Daddy, you are better than Santa," she declared, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Because you are my favorite." Harry chuckled, surrendering to the undeniable charm of his daughter's innocence.

"Thank you, honey." Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss on Azriela's cheeks. "I love you." My eyes stayed on them—it made me so happy knowing how much Harry loved them. Even though he does what he does, he still manages to protect and love them. Always put them first.

Just because you do something dangerous does not mean you can't love your kids. And my mother ever seemed to understand that.

"I love you more." Harry turns to look at Marceline, who was focusing with her cookie, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she dragged the pink icing over the snowman's clothes.

"I love your snowman, Marceline." She looks away and up at her father, smiling brightly. "Thank you! It's for Santa, and that one is for me." Harry nods with a smile, wiping away something from her face.

"Where's your phone?" I asked Harry, and he tilted his head towards me, murmuring. "On that counter." Walking towards it, I turned it on. A picture of me and his daughters is on the home screen. I smiled and moved to take pictures of them. I took so many pictures as my heart thumped and fluttered. "Can we eat our cookies, Daddy?"

"Let's wash our hands first, little loves, and then we can eat all our cookies and watch a movie." They agreed and followed Harry to wash their hands. Harry grabbed the plate of cookies while the girls rushed past us and towards the living room.