It was a lovely weekend; the sun was shining, everything was peaceful, it was the kind of Sunday you used to spend with family, go out with your partner, or go to the supermarket, which is what you were doing now with your husband, son and daughter.

The supermarket's air conditioning made you shiver slightly as you put Dear in the child seat of the shopping cart. He just watched your face and played with a stuffed animal. Dear was 10 years old, but he didn't talk much, and by "not talk much" he meant that the only one who understood his nonverbal cues was Bro; your husband (and the most handsome man in your opinion), as well as Dear's adoptive father. He was holding the list, and at your insistence, he changed his bandana for a new one you bought him. Your daughter, Guita, was looking at the fruits happily.

"Okay, babe, we need...fruits and vegetables first. You can't eat sweets all the time, Dear." Bro stroked his little one's head, who only grunted slightly; he didn't much like vegetables. "And that goes to you too, little lady." Bro said to Guita, your older adoptive daughter; a very happy and chirpy fourteen year old, that wore her dinosaur onesie and was wanting yogurt.