Samuel Bates hadn't always abused her. He wasn't always gentle, and he could be insulting, but he didn't always beat Norma.

   It started out like their newborn started his life: very small. It would begin with an insult, and she would retaliate, and he would snag her by the hair and growl into her ear until she cried for him to stop.

   "What's your problem?" she asked him one day. "I cook for you, I clean for you, and I'm trying to raise a baby for you...what's your problem with me, Sam?"

   "I don't know what you're talking about-"

   "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she replied, fighting the urge to curse at him. "Ever since I brought home that baby, you've been insulting me. You refuse to eat the food I cook and you act like you don't even want to touch me," her breath hitched in her throat, "What's your problem?"

   "You- you-" he started to say something, then stopped himself. "I gotta go to work," he muttered, tossing his breakfast in the garbage.

   Dylan found his mother crying at the kitchen table.

   "Mom- Momma, are you okay?" he asked, poking her shoulder.

   She glanced up at him, her eyes red and full of tears. She was biting her lower lip, in vain effort to keep it from trembling as she spoke to her eldest son. "Yeah," she paused, wrapping an arm around Dylan. "I'm okay." She stood, wiping her eyes, and asked Dylan what he wanted to drink.

   "Can I have some orange juice?"

   "Sure, of course you can," she responded, pouring the sour liquid into his plastic Batman cup. "I think- I think we're going to go do something fun today, Dylan."

   "Like what?" the four-year-old questioned, obviously intruged by the word "fun."

   "We're gonna go buy you a new toy, and I'm going to take you to the park. And afterwards, I'm going to take you for your favorite ice cream."

   The little boy's eyes were as round as saucers. "Really? But it's not even my birthday..." Dylan said, his words trailing off as Norman started to cry.

   "Really, really. Now, you eat up while Mommy feeds Norman, and when we're all through, we can get dressed and go."

   Dylan ate faster than Norma could nurse the baby and did his best job of getting dressed. He chose his favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt with some mismatched pants, but Norma didn't care. Today was her day, and Dylan's day, and Norman's day. This day was for them.

   Her eldest son did his best to help pack Norman's baby bag, too. He pulled different items from the nursery, asking questions like,  "Does Norman need a binky?" and "How many blankets will he use?" in the same tone that her brother used years before.

   She smiled and answered his questions as gently as she would have with Caleb, and for a moment was able to forget the horrible thing that her sibling did to her so many years ago. Instead, she found herself being thankful that a sweet little boy like Dylan was given to her.

   Norma snatched the keys for the car, dropping them into the pocket of the beige sweater that hung about her thin frame. Baby in hand, and Dylan's hand in the other, she walked the two out to Sam Bates' old car. She switched on the radio, hearing "Achy Breaky Heart" on one of the country stations that her husband listened to.

   Norma didn't like country music; she preferred older styles of the genre, at least. However, she hadn't the heart to switch the station after Dylan started singing along in an adorable, accented voice.

   It wasn't too long before she found herself singing along to whatever else played on the radio. She eventually switched to one of the pop stations to hear Celine Dion belting a one of her many ballads. Her eyes skirted from the radio to the backset of the vehicle, where Dylan was gazing out the window thoughtfully and Norman was sleeping in his carseat.

   "Everything okay back there, Superman?" she asked, kicking herself for using an old nickname of Caleb's.

   "I was just thinking...if you could change something about yourself, what would you want to change?"

   Norma's brow furrowed. He was asking a rather...large question for being such a small boy. "Well...I don't know, maybe I'd like to have a prettier singing voice," she remarked, turning the volume down on what she recognized to be "Bohemian Rhapsody."

   "Aw, Mom, you got a pretty voice already. I think if I were to change anything about you, it would be...your hair," he said decisively.

   "Yeah?" she questioned, feeling slightly insulted by her four-year-old. "How?" she asked, expecting a silly answer.

   "I'd make it shorter. I think you'd look right pretty with short hair."

   "Yeah? Well, I used to have shorter hair before you were born. Your father was actually the one who'd suggested that I wear it long."

   "I think he was wrong. I think you should've kept it short. I'm sure it's prettier that way," he insisted, pulling at his own short hair.

   "You know something," she said, pulling down the visor for a second, "I think you're right."

   They arrived at the store twenty minutes later. Norma took her sons down the toy isle, as promised, and watched as her son pulled the biggest super soaker they had into the cart.

   "Aren't you a little small for that?" she questioned cautiously.

   "Nope. I'm a big boy now, Momma. Which means I get a super soaker!" he yelled, holding the box triumphantly.

   "Mm-hmm. I suppose you do, don't you..." she said, glancing casually at the price of the water-shooting firearm. Her heart skipped a beat. Sam would murder her. The super soaker stayed in the cart, with Dylan hugging it until they left the store.

   They got ice cream and Norma took her son to try out his new super soaker...with some parental supervision, of course. She only got sprayed half a million times before decided to call it quits. "Hey, Dylan, I think we're going to the barber shop today," she said, beckoning for him to come closer.

   His face sunk. "What? I don't want a haircut!" he said, pulling at his hair again.

   "Not you, dear...Mommy wants to get her hair cut short, like you said."

   Dylan grinned.

   The two packed their things and worked together to get Norman into his seat. When Norma and her family returned home that day, she sported curled, blonde locks.

   Sam was not happy.