Freddie had spent the next half hour sitting on his bed with a pot of tea and ashtray close at hand, sipping every cup and cigarette he had to relax himself and try take his mind of the situation .

But he couldn't, and he dreaded hearing his daughter's summoning cries sounding from the baby monitor sitting next to him. Deep down some of his fondest memories he had, aside from spending time at his piano and his most electrifying gigs on tour, always went back to his children. The nights be spent cuddled up and holding onto Monica's swollen stomach, her soft hands lovingly caressing his head as he'd plant two kisses on her warm skin, one for each twin. And when they were born, when his mind was too much of a whirl to try get some sleep at the hospital in Geneva, sitting at the window overlooking the city lights and tranquil freshwater lake with their cots either side of him, watching them sleep peacefully as he thought about how much he loved them.

Not a day went by when he didn't think about their first night in the world.

Monica tapped on the door gently, and pushed it open, interrupting his nostalgia instantly.

"I came to get your teacup" she shuffled over to the bed.

Without a response, he pushed the duvet down slightly and sat up so that his love could join him.

She still approached, even though he was in a delicate mood.

She sat on the mattress, cautiously putting a hand on his back, to which leaned himself against her side in response, feeling conflicted.

"Where's Johnny?" He murmured.

"In the kitchen playpen... he was getting impatient when I was preparing dinner."

"Hmph" He grunted in response, then reached for his box of Marlboros and lighter before refraining; it would've been his fifth cigarette in the last hour.

"Poor, silly man," She thought, kissing the top of his head. "Why is he so emotionally damaging? You know it's part of the otherness that lured you to him in the first place..."

He buried his face into her neck, but she pulled away and gently persuaded, "Let me see that face..."

He reluctantly lifted his head, revealing red eyes.

"Oh, what a shame. People really are ugly when they cry," she turned her head away, and the lightheartedness in her tone was infuriatingly irresistible to him. "And you, dear man, are no exception to look at."

"Shut up," he spat weakly. "Just take the damn teacup and get out."

"Awwww, now don't be like that." She pouted, laying back into the mattress and stretching.

"I'm warning you..." he breathed, but he failed to sound threatening.

She crossed her arms behind her head, "Why should I? If you think those teeth scare me, they don't"

He growled and pushed her onto the bed, the blotchiness in his cheeks fading.

The sadness in those brown eyes seemingly disappeared within seconds, and all Monica seemed to be staring back at was a playful lust.

She softly grazed the exposed part of his hairy chest, and started unbuttoning his chequered shirt, one by one.

"Pity you cut your hair so short," he kissed her neck. "I miss it in our early days when it was longer."

"What? You cut yours, so why shouldn't I?" Was all she could say as she pushed his shirt down his shoulders.

"Oh, you cunning minx" he kissed her, and began setting his hands on her body, slipping them underneath her blouse.

She pulled the duvet over them in response to his infectious touch, savouring his lips as she felt him undoing the fly of her trousers.

He feverishly ripped her them down her thighs as she felt the skin of his back burning up beneath the palms of her hands, his tongue slipping down her throat. Since they became parents their intimate moments weren't very frequent anymore and sex had become laboured, and they both grew exhausted when nighttime rolled around.

She lifted her head from the pillow as he heard him buckle his trousers, glancing at the child monitor anxiously for the fear of her child's wailing interrupting what they were leading up to.

But he turned her chin to bring her attention back to him, and she felt her cheeks redden at the sight of his naked body kneeling above hers.

She lifted her legs to allow his elegant, long fingers to pull her panties off, and he leaned down again and kissed her deeply as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He rubbed her thighs as she slipped her hand down and helped aim him, and gasped as she felt him.

He began to thrust softly as her face contorted in pleasure, moaning into her neck.

"Make it-Make it quick..." she clawed his scalp and the skin on his back.

His hand took hold of her neck, shoving her against the pillow as he straightened up in dominance and pumped his hips back and forth faster and faster.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum..." he threw his head back, grabbing her thigh against his hip as her cries of pleasure grew louder.

She scraped his forearm pinning her down as he groaned deeply, delivering a few final pumps before collapsing on her chest. He heard her heart pounding beneath the cotton of her blouse as he gasped for air.

"...I'm sorry if I was too harsh on you." She finally whispered, caressing his head.

He hauled himself up and wiped his sweaty forehead before kissing her lips, gently pulling himself out.

She sat up, her legs untangling him from her grip as she reached for the rest of her clothes, wondering if it was worth letting him get away with it so lightly.

He sat on he mattress edge again and buckled his belt back up, pessimistically asking, "You-You think she will forgive me?"

"Oh Fred... you love eachother too much." She pulled her pants back on and put a hand on his back, rubbing up and down affectionately.

He ran a hand through his greasy hair and slowly turned around, tears falling, "I mean, we can-we can move past it, can't we?"

"Of course!" She took his hand. "You can fix this."

He rubbed his eyes as he started snivelling again, "I don't know how to go about saying sorry."

"Just do what feels right," she wiped his wet cheeks, and picked his chequered shirt up. "Even if it means letting her see you shed a tear or two that's the best way."

"Oh Monica," he slipped his arms in and began buttoning it back up. "I don't know what I'd do without you. How are you not mad at me?"

She kissed his shoulder as she fixed the collar turned in, and firmly told him, "Oh believe me I am mad at you... but I know you can change for the better. You've got this... always have. You don't even need me for it."

"But I need someone to have faith in me otherwise I can't have faith in myself" he held her hand to his cheek.

"Don't be silly!" She pecked his lips. "You're stronger than you think! You got famous on your own. Now, your children are the ones who need your faith."

They sat there for a minute in an embrace, foreheads pressed against one another as the golden light of the sinking sun filtered warmth through the window on the two of them... until they were interrupted.

The child monitor sounded, Roshni's cries for company crackling through the speaker.

Freddie's face fell with a foreboding expression.

"Up you get," she patted his shoulder. "You know the drill."

His feet carried him down the corridor, his breath hitching as he tried to think about where to begin as her cries for company became louder the closer he got.

He reached the nursery, his hand retracting from the door knob at the persistent, painful sound. Nonetheless, he reluctantly opened it and made his way in, his eyes on the cot as he strolled over.

Roshni was laying under her blanket, whimpering as he approached her, looking back up in fright.

He peered in, his soft brown eyes glistening with sorrow as his hands pushed the curtains back behind him.

"Shhhh... I'm here..." he purred, reaching his arms in to gather her.

She let out a wail as his hands grabbed her by the waist and gently lifted her out, but he immediately started shushing her, patting her back and holding her to his chest.

To his relief she didn't thrash about, but she was still rigid and terrified.

"Daddy loves you..." he repeated softly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he nuzzled the girl ever so tenderly, making her feel comforted and as loved as possible.

Her nervy whimpers stopped, her small hands reaching up to his wet face, "D-Daddy...?"

She was baffled. She'd never seen him, let alone a grown man, cry before.

He nodded, lips trembling, "Yes... daddy cries... daddy is sorry" he finally whispered, planting a kiss on her head. "Daddy was very wrong to shout at you like that... very wrong".

She stopped her sobs, her short arms beginning to relax and grab onto him as a sign of trust and forgiveness.

"My baby... please don't cry any more... please don't cry" he crooned, tightening his hold.

She didn't say anything, and although she felt soothed and comfortable with him once again she just stared into space distraught with red eyes, too afraid step out of line or make a mistake ever again.

"What have I done?" He thought.

He quietly carried her downstairs and settled himself down on the sofa, cradling his little girl.

Monica leaned by the doorway and momentarily watched, but Freddie didn't notice her.

"I know that what I'm about to say will make no sense to you, seeing as you're still little...I said earlier that the vase was the only valuable thing in that room..." he started, voice hushed. "but it really was not... it was also you... it was you.. you and your brother have taught me what love really is. What can I say? I really do love beautiful things. But no piece of artwork can surpass either of you, nor your mother."

Monica smiled to herself, then made her way to the kitchen.

"Mamma..." Johnny leaned over the safety gate at the entrance.

She bent down to him, "Yes, sweetie?"

"Orange juice!" He pointed to the fridge.

"Alright love," she went to the cupboard. "Maybe your sister would like one too."

A minute later she came into the room with a plastic cup in her hand, Johnny toddling behind her as he happily sipped.

"Thank you" Freddie murmured as she carefully handed it to him.

Monica smiled, rubbing his head lovingly as he looked back up at her with gratitude.

"Sit up a bit, love" He held it up to Roshni's lips, and her hands held it in place.

Monica glanced over to the broken pottery still on the floor.

"Freddie?" She picked Johnny up.

"Mmh?" He sounded, watching his daughter in his arms.

"Do you... still want to get it fixed? ...Do you want me to get in contact with Misa or one of those kintsugi artists?" She asked gently.

He lifted his head, and nodded, "Be a dear and get the little dustpan and brush."

"Glad you're obliged to fix things up again" She smiled, relieved and triumphant, then left for the storeroom.

Because inside, he was by now confident that he had the ability to turn things around