Mary loved the huge house a great deal when it was full to the bursting point with family and friends. It was a great thing to be surrounded by so much love. The opposite, of course, was to be alone in the empty house with only the memory of loved ones to keep her company. That had happened once, when she died and was trapped in the house she had once loved, and while some might say she was only pregnant and being overly dramatic, Mary thought this was far worse than that time. After all, then she was the only one dead, and she had faith that somewhere John and her boys were alive and safe, even if she could not see them. This time, she had no such assurance. For all she knew they were all dead somewhere or gone, and instead of losing just a husband and two sons, Mary lost them and an extended family including a grandson as well. Part of her doubted she could handle it.
Needing to be moving, to be doing -something-, Mary was in the kitchen making a huge feast. When everyone was home in a few hours--and she would not let herself think it could be longer than that--they would be hungry, and she would have food. When she finally got tired, and as two pies baked in the oven, Mary sat down and put up her feet.
It was then that a glimpse of movement outside of the window caught her gaze. Mary awkwardly rose to her feet and walked to the window.
"Ben!!" She was out the door quickly, doing her best to run toward the child. When they reached one another she threw her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as her belly would allow and pressing kisses to his hair. "Thank God. Ben, I was so worried about you. I--"
She trailed off, really looking at him for the first time. She caught sight of the pajamas and then the bruise.
"What happened?" She asked, a note of panic beginning to set in. Someone had -hurt- Ben, and though he was home, everyone else was still gone. What if they were hurt?