Re: Quicklog, Marvel: the Martin-Argüelleses
"I will wear it all of the time, princessa. Prometo." Elena even held up a hand like she was swearing before the court of the Christmas tree. She smiled through the story of how the shirt came to be, grinning with secret pleasure into the rim of her coffee mug when Cris explained without any true complaint of how his own shirt had gotten ruined with paint while playing assistant to their young fashion designer. It was just one of those little things that assured her Cris was a good father, he didn't lose his temper over such ridiculous things like that with Teresa. He was patient with their daughter in ways that he would never find to be with Elena, but in this moment, with the joy of a child shredding paper and giggling over new toys, anything remotely bitter that lingered from the last few days was the last thing on her mind.
Elena leaned into the arm of the couch, cautiously making room so that Cris had his own side. She kept her socks tucked far on her side, knees bent sharp. She sipped her coffee and she watched her daughter, her miracle, expose present after present from beneath the tree. Elena sipped her coffee, and it along with the moment as a whole warmed her so wonderfully that the last thing on her mind was when she would eventually have to leave.