On the night of November 2nd, 1983, Mary did not get out of bed. That night, Mary slept like a baby, awoken by nothing. And, seven years after Sam, her and John welcomed their third and youngest child, a long awaited girl. You.

While John and the boys were outside, playing football or something, Mary sat behind you, braiding your hair. She was grateful for her life. Her normal life, away from hunting and everything. Granted, there was something about Sam she couldn't shake, something off, but why dwell on it? Things were fine.

"I'm almost done," Mary soothed you when you complained about the pulling. "Perfection takes time, Princess."